


Spirit Animals

by hollycomb



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:46:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cartman wants to film his amateur ghost hunting show at the site of the grisly McCormick massacre. Stan hates the idea but he can't stay away, because Kyle will be there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stan wants to drop out of the Midnight Society, but two things are stopping him: the fact that Kyle and Cartman would be the only remaining members if he left -- excluding Butters, who shows up when he doesn't have a conflicting choir practice -- and Stan's continuing belief in ghosts. He doesn't want to believe in ghosts, because it seems ignorant and childish, but he can't deny that he's seen Kenny at least four times since he was murdered in eighth grade.  
  
"I now call this meeting to order," Cartman says, giving Stan a pointed look. Stan puts away his phone and glances at Kyle, who is doing his homework. Kyle is allowed to break the Midnight Society rules now that he's doing God knows what with Cartman upstairs prior to the club meetings. "The issue on the table today is, of course, Halloween."  
  
"Oh, boy!" Butters says, and he claps his hands together twice. "What do you have in store for us this year, Eric?"  
  
"I'm getting to that, Butters, if you'd shut the fuck up for a second." Cartman indulges in a dramatic pause, his eyes sweeping the pathetically empty basement. The Midnight Society, founded when they were twelve, used to have ten members. Now that they're juniors in high school, many former paranormal enthusiasts have defected to Wendy's competing South Park Society for Skeptical Inquiry.  
  
"Just say it, Cartman," Kyle says, still scribbling on his Calculus worksheet. "And prepare to be deservedly rebuked."  
  
"Kyle, okay?" Cartman says, glaring at him. "Quit talking like you're in Downton Abbey, Jesus Christ." He turns back to Stan and Butters. "This year's Halloween ghost hunt will be a very personal one for the team. For, you see -- we shall venture into the abandoned McCormick house."  
  
"Nope," Stan says.  
  
"Oh, gosh!" Butters put his hands over his mouth. "I don't know if that'd be right, Eric."  
  
"Of course it wouldn't be right!" Kyle says, finally looking up from his calculations. "It's extremely disrespectful."  
  
"How is it disrespectful to want to commune with our dead friend?" Cartman asks, throwing his arms out. "Huh? Kyle?"  
  
"Because you're using an actual tragedy that happened to an actual person we knew for the purpose of playing your little ghost hunting game!"  
  
"It's not a game, Kyle, okay? Can you seriously deny some of the evidence I've captured over the years? Do I need to play the EVPs for you again?"  
  
"Please, no," Stan says, rubbing his hand over his face. "No EVPs, and no going into Kenny's house. You've been voted down, Cartman."  
  
"Um, excuse me? No, that's not possible. I'm the president, and I have veto rights. I veto your objections."  
  
"Have fun going alone," Kyle says, looking back to his homework.  
  
"Alright, fine," Cartman says. "Have fun sucking your own dick."  
  
"Ugh, stop," Stan says, his skin crawling with goosebumps. He can't take even the barest hint that the two of them have begun having what Kyle deems 'hate sex.' After Wendy dumped him, Cartman declared himself a proud gay man and immediately began hooking up with Kyle, who has been surly in response to Stan's utter disbelief.  
  
"Threaten me all you like," Kyle says. He has an air of sophisticated indifference about the whole Cartman thing, and it makes Stan want to puke and cry simultaneously. "It's not like people are lining up to suck yours."  
  
"I will literally do anything if you guys stop talking about this," Stan says.  
  
"Excellent," Cartman says, and he picks up the gavel that he stole from the debate team, pounding against the card table he's sitting at twice. "Then it's settled. We'll stop talking about sucking dick, and Stan officially agrees to participate in the McCormick house investigation."  
  
"I didn't say that," Stan says.  
  
"You kind of did," Kyle says, and Stan snarls at him, but he's still looking at his homework.  
  
"No worries, gentlemen," Cartman says. "We'll handle this subject sensitively."  
  
"Poor Kenny," Butters says, and Stan gets up to leave. Upstairs, he dodges Liane's attempt to get him to join her for a nightcap, and he's at the end of Cartman's driveway when he hears someone following him. It's Kyle, still stuffing his books into his bag.  
  
"Wait up," Kyle says, as if they had some kind of agreement. "You know I don't like walking home alone at night."  
  
"I thought maybe your boyfriend would walk you," Stan says.  
  
"He's not my boyfriend, he's just an asshole who happens to be attached to a cock that is available for my use. It's an unfortunate combination, I'll admit."  
  
"That's fucked up."  
  
"Yes, yes -- get over it, please. I was the only gay guy in school, and now there's two of us, and he's like a metric ton human skyscraper who's capable of murder, so I'm slightly less afraid of getting my ass kicked while affiliated with him. You should be happy for me."  
  
"Oh, yeah, I'm thrilled. So if he's such an intimidating, protective force, why am I the one walking you home?"  
  
Kyle has no witty retort for this question, and when he fumes in silence Stan feels giddy for a moment, then guilty.  
  
"So, speaking of things that are fucked up," Stan says, happy to change the subject. "This Kenny thing. What the hell?"  
  
"Cartman has unprocessed grief and this may be his way of exploring that," Kyle says. Stan scoffs.  
  
"You are giving him way too much credit."  
  
"Perhaps, or maybe I'm projecting. But maybe it's not such a bad idea for the four of us to visit the scene of the crime. For closure."  
  
"Closure? Looking at some blood splattered walls in an abandoned house is going to help us get over Kenny's death, really?"  
  
"They're hardly blood splattered anymore!" Kyle peeks at Stan, suddenly sheepish. "I have to admit, some part of me wants to go there. To, I don't know. Certainly not to speak to his spirit, but to atone with our memories of him, or something."  
  
"Dude, you really are starting to sound like you're on Downton Abbey."  
  
"Like you've even watched it!" Kyle smacks Stan's shoulder and Stan shoves him back, friendly-like. They smile at each other. Stan feels it in his gut. Sometimes Kyle still likes him.  
  
"I just think it's crazy," Stan says. "Crazy talk from a crazy asshole."  
  
"Says the person who claims to have seen Kenny's ghost."  
  
"I have!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
They reach the end of Kyle's driveway and stop. Kyle is back to shooting Stan huffy looks, his eyes guarded and fierce. Things changed around the time of Kenny's funeral. Stan and Kyle had spent the night together afterward. There was weird pre-sexual touching, which seemed excusable in the midst of their grief. Kyle has been distant ever since, or maybe Stan has. Either way, they still manage to spend almost all of their free time together, when Kyle isn't exploring his sexuality with the only available cock. Stan sometimes thinks his might be available, to Kyle if not guys generally, but he's too chicken shit to put the idea forward.  
  
"So I walked you home," Stan says, feeling stupid.  
  
"What do you want, a medal?" Kyle's voice is inappropriately loud, and it seems to echo down the dark street, making Stan slightly apprehensive about walking the rest of the way alone. Kyle groans and presses his fist to Stan's chest. "I'll see you in school," he says, and he turns for his house in a sassy little pivot that makes Stan wonder why he thinks Kyle is so much cooler than him sometimes.  
  
*  
  
At school the next day, Stan is buying a Cherry Coke from the vending machine when he's approached by Wendy, who looks preemptively disappointed by the encounter.  
  
"What's this I hear about Eric going to the McCormick house on Halloween?" she asks. "That is such a toxic idea," she says before Stan can answer.  
  
"Yes, I agree."  
  
"Stan, please don't take that tone with me."  
  
"What tone?"  
  
"That stoic defeatist thing you do when you know I'm right and you don't want to deal with me."  
  
"I have no problem dealing with you," Stan says, though he would prefer to just head to the lunch room with his Coke in peace. "And of course you're right. I voiced my dissent, but it's not like he's going to listen to me, or anyone."  
  
"How about Kyle?" Wendy makes a queasy face that communicates her shared disgust for the idea of Cartman and Kyle copulating. "He can't put his foot down about this as Cartman's - lover?"  
  
"Wendy." Stan recoils. "No, no, don't -- he's not a lover. God. And actually, Kyle is into this McCormick house thing. He thinks it will cleanse us spiritually or something."  
  
"That doesn't sound like Kyle at all!"  
  
"Well, does receiving sexual pleasure from Cartman sound like Kyle? He's lost his mind, Wendy. What am I supposed to do about it?"  
  
"You know this is just about me breaking up with him," Wendy says. "This is so Eric. I just feel bad for poor Kyle. He'll end up getting his feelings hurt."  
  
"Feelings are not involved."  
  
"Ha! So he says. Kyle puts up this front, but he's actually a tender rosebud."  
  
"Ew," Stan says, flushing, because it's not like he's never thought about Kyle's tender rosebud.  
  
"You know he is," Wendy says, missing this. "And Cartman probably knows it to some extent. But never mind -- this McCormick house thing. I forbid it."  
  
"Kay."  
  
"Stan, really, I'm going to hit you if you keep talking to me that way."  
  
"What way?"  
  
"Like I'm hysterical and you're this put upon everyman douche who has to deal with the various hysterics in his life."  
  
"Hmm," Stan says.  
  
"Don't stand there thinking that's exactly what you are, because you're not blameless, Stanley. You can't keep letting him get away with things like this."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Kyle!"  
  
"What's Kyle done? It was all Cartman's idea."  
  
"Sure it was," Wendy says. She's flustered, and Stan is beginning to wonder if she's jealous of Kyle for his access to Cartman's crotch. Such a thing seems impossible, but many things that once seemed that way have come to pass in recent years.  
  
They head into the lunch room and join their usual assortment of friends, Stan taking a seat between Kyle and Token. Cartman is sitting at Kyle's other side, launching himself into his school cafeteria cheeseburger with everything he's got. Cartman is massive, and Stan scowls at him, resenting this. Stan is slim and only a few inches taller than Kyle, who is soft and petite, rosebud-like.  
  
"Maybe we'll join you, for the sake of skeptical inquiry," Wendy says. She takes a seat next to Craig, who is eating yogurt in his usual irritating, lizard-like way, licking it daintily from the very end of his plastic spoon in a manner that takes the full lunch hour to complete.  
  
"Join us where?" Kyle asks.  
  
"On the ghost hunt," Wendy says. She scoffs. "Or desecration, I should say."  
  
"Wendy," Cartman says, wiping cheese grease from his lips. "The only thing getting desecrated around here is my balls, okay? We're not even together anymore, so you can quit trying to break them."  
  
"This isn't about you or your balls," Wendy says, and she gives Kyle a meaningful look that Stan doesn't appreciate. "Believe me, I'm relieved that they're being tended to by another these days. This is about our memories of our beloved friend who died tragically and much too young. Leave your goddamn balls out of it."  
  
"Speaking of balls," Craig says. "I bet you assholes won't even be man enough to spend an hour in that house."  
  
"Huh, okay, Craig!" Cartman says. "You want to bet?"  
  
"Seriously, I'd have no problem staying there," Kyle says. "As a tribute. I'm not afraid."  
  
"You're a lunatic," Stan says. "We're not staying there."  
  
"Stan is the biggest pussy I've ever met in my life," Craig observes mildly, as if Stan isn't there or won't object to this statement.  
  
"Not as big as you," Kyle says.  
  
"Right," Craig says. "When's the last time I was scared of anything? I'm a fucking Nihilist, Kyle. That's the whole point."  
  
"My fucking ass you are," Cartman says. "And if you're so above the concept of fear, Craig, why don't you and your little junior skeptical detectives come spend the night with us in the McCormick Death Den?"  
  
"Don't call it that!" Wendy says. "And you know what -- forget it. I'm not getting involved with this on any level."  
  
"Ah, Wendy, like I was even including you. I suppose it goes without saying that you lack balls. You lack balls so much that your ball-lessness creates a vortex which threatens to suck the balls off of even the most virile of men. I should know -- I was almost too late to yank mine back from the void."  
  
"I broke up with you," Wendy says. "And the only reason I won't be joining you on your little quest to piss all over our memories of Kenny is that I think it's repulsive, morbid, and frankly pretty sad."  
  
"Sure, Wendy, sure. We all totally believe that."  
  
"What do you guys think you're going to accomplish?" Token asks. "Some black light footage of old carpet stains?"  
  
"I don't want to see carpet stains," Stan says, suddenly very upset. "Wendy is right. You guys are being gross."  
  
"Okay, excuse me?" Kyle says, whirling on Stan. "Do you even remember what Kenny was like? He was not one to stand on ceremony, or to observe boundaries or tip-toe around feelings. If he were here, I think he would be into the idea. He was really sort of spiritual."  
  
"Do you even half think about what comes out of your mouth anymore?" Stan asks, rearing away from Kyle.  
  
"Do you really need to ask that of someone who has swallowed Cartman's beastly jizz?" Craig asks.  
  
"Why thank you, Craig," Cartman says. "I take beastly as a compliment in that context."  
  
By the end of the lunch period, Stan still isn't sure what the plan is for Halloween. He could always stay home and watch scary movies with his parents, but that sounds like the absolute worst fate imaginable on multiple levels. He wishes he had some friends who weren't insane, and also that he didn't continue to feel responsible for Kyle's well being, despite Kyle having attached himself to the massive man meat that is Cartman and his beastly appendage.  
  
In an attempt to talk to someone sane, if horrible and dull, Stan offers Clyde Donovan a ride home from school. He also does this out of lonely bitterness, because Kyle declined to accept a ride himself, in favor of going off on some foul errand with Cartman. Stan didn't ask for details.  
  
"I'm in kind of a dark place right now," Stan confesses as he pulls out of the school's lot, Clyde beside him in the passenger seat.  
  
"What does that mean?" Clyde asks. "Are you going to crash the car with me in it?"  
  
"Clyde, Jesus -- no. I guess it means I need to talk. Can I talk to you about some things?" He normally confides in Wendy, but she's been making about as much sense as Kyle ever since her breakup with Cartman, which was allegedly brought on by Cartman confessing that he wanted to put his dick on her face while she slept, which she refused to consent to. Now Stan is left wondering if Kyle allows it.  
  
"You can talk," Clyde says after an ominously long pause.  
  
"Well," Stan says, not sure where to begin. "Remember Kenny McCormick?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. Are there people who don't remember him?"  
  
"I don't know what goes on in your head, Clyde. Anyway, Cartman has this idea that we should go ghost hunting on Halloween at Kenny's old house."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah. So, Wendy says it's immoral, which I tend to agree with, but for some reason Kyle is all into the idea, though he initially said it was bullshit, and I'm just like - why? Why is he determined to destroy himself?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Kyle! I mean, as someone who has known both of them for a long time, what do you think about the fact that he's dating Cartman?"  
  
"It surprised me less than when Wendy dated him."  
  
"Well -- yeah, but. No, I think Kyle is more surprising, in terms of Cartman's sexual partners."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I mean, yes, both instances of Cartman dating these people were shocking, and I'm still a little shocked that anyone consents to let him lay a hand on them -- do you think he's attractive?"  
  
"I don't like men."  
  
"He's not a man, for fuck's sake! He's a boy, and I mean objectively, not as a potential sex partner for you personally."  
  
"Can I get out of the car?" Clyde asks, eying the passenger side door lock.  
  
"Clyde, no, we're in the middle of traffic here. Calm down. Why is everyone in my life a hysterical mess?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"And I'm not using hysterical as a gendered slur, or whatever, which is what Wendy would think. I mean it, uh. Neutrally."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Stan has to stop himself for berating Clyde for his cud-chewing tone, suddenly understanding how Wendy felt earlier. He turns on the radio and passes the rest of the car ride in silence, which Clyde seems perfectly comfortable with.  
  
At home, Stan lies on his back in bed and tries to imagine Kyle, sleeping, with Cartman's big wang draped across his nose or flopped onto his cheek. His visions devolve into Kyle, awake, with Stan's cock lovingly tickling against his lips, asking for permission to enter. Stan reaches into his pants with a sigh.  
  
After his beat off and nap, he lies there in bed feeling miserable and waiting for his mother to call him for dinner. He's overcome with a crushing sense of guilt, not because he beat off to the thought of Kyle sucking his dick, but because he's alive and Kenny is not. He's a ghost at best, and he hadn't looked like a happy one when Stan saw him. The first two times, Stan was too scared to move and Kenny just sort of walked off, but the third time he called out to Kenny, who seemed frightened and ran, and the fourth time Stan chased after him. Kenny lost him by veering into the alley behind the mall, which he seems to haunt. Stan goes there sometimes, but he's never been able to find Kenny's ghost when he's looking for it on purpose, just a bunch of food garbage from whichever bum slept there the night before.  
  
In the days that follow there is more discussion about the Halloween plans, but Stan mostly opts out of the debate, resigned to the fact that he'll end up doing whatever the rest of the gang does on Halloween. He feels increasingly depressed about Kenny, and no one but Kyle seems to notice. On the night before Halloween, Kyle shows up at Stan's house after school with a grocery bag.  
  
"Is your kitchen in use?" Kyle asks.  
  
"Uh," Stan says, confused by the question and annoyed with Kyle's timing. Stan was just beginning his afternoon beat off when his mother called to him, saying Kyle was here. He's more in the mood for the soft-lipped Kyle of his fantasies than this real one and his unpredictable moods. "No, nobody's using the kitchen. Why, do you need it?"  
  
"Yes." Kyle shoves around him and heads for the kitchen. "We're making caramel apples."  
  
"Okay," Stan says, slightly more enthusiastic about this surprise visit now. "I love those."  
  
"I know," Kyle says. He throws the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and begins unloading items. "I thought you could use some less intense Halloween fun."  
  
"Less intense?"  
  
"Yes, less so than whatever's going to happen tomorrow night." Kyle looked up from the groceries and met Stan's eyes in the sort of full-on, unguarded way that had been rare even before Kenny died. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."  
  
"Please. Like I'd let you go there with only Cartman and Butters to watch your ass."  
  
"My ass doesn't need your eyes on it," Kyle says, but he's smiling. "Come over here and start unwrapping caramels, please."  
  
Stan thinks of protesting that harvesting caramel from many individually wrapped candy pieces has got to be the least efficient method of making caramel apples, but the unwrapping is actually weirdly soothing, so he keeps his mouth shut while Kyle washes the applies in his usual fastidious bordering on OCD way.  
  
"I heard you gave Clyde Donovan a ride home from school the other day," Kyle says as he's drying the apples.  
  
"You heard?" Stan scoffs. "From who?"  
  
"Craig."  
  
"Wow, well. Craig caught me, I gave Clyde a ride home. This sizzling hot gossip is sure to haunt me forever."  
  
"Why are you being dramatic? I'm just saying, you were in a car with Clyde. That's kinda weird."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Well, because -- why? Is what I'm asking. Why voluntarily be in the presence of the dimmest person we know?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's just that everyone else is so bright. Or glaring, even. I guess I was craving a dim presence."  
  
Kyle gave him a long, piercing look, and Stan grinned.  
  
"Is that supposed to offend me?" Kyle asked. "I don't care if I have a glaring presence. Good! If the alternative is Clyde, well. You have my answer."  
  
"You're not one of the glaring ones," Stan says. "I meant Cartman, and Wendy, and Craig, though he's more like a monotonous droning noise that occasionally gets loud enough to irritate me."  
  
"You're mixing metaphors, Stan."  
  
"Well, sorry, I'm winging it."  
  
Kyle is silent for a moment, and he joins Stan in unwrapping caramels. Stan waits, sensing that Kyle is about to explode for some reason or another. The backs of his ears are turning red.  
  
"How many of these do we need to unwrap?" Stan asks.  
  
"Fuck, I don't know!" Kyle says, loudly. "All of them, I think. Look, I'm just saying -- I'd be saddened if you ended up being friends with Clyde. It would disappoint me greatly."  
  
"Kyle, what the hell? Don't worry about it. Clyde asked me if I was going to kill him within two minutes of getting into my car. He's just not that into me."  
  
"What is that supposed to be, some kind of gay joke?" Kyle glares at Stan, his ears very red now.  
  
"I guess," Stan says. He touches Kyle's back, because this sometimes has a calming effect. Kyle's shoulders lower slightly. "Chill, dude," Stan says. Kyle grunts and resumes unwrapping caramels.  
  
"Nobody says 'chill,' Stan."  
  
"You're still my best friend," Stan says, quietly, after some awkward silence.  
  
"Really? The Cartman clause doesn't forbid that?"  
  
"There's no Cartman clause. Do whatever you want with that fat piece of shit. I'm not going to abandon you in this darkest time of your soul's struggle."  
  
He's afraid that might set Kyle off again, but Kyle just snorts and smiles down at the caramels.  
  
Twenty minutes later, their caramel apples are lined up on a baking sheet, some rolled in chopped nuts, others rolled in M&M's. Stan thinks the idea of M&M coated apples is kind of gross, but he has to admit that it looks pretty. He joins Kyle in licking cooling caramel from the spoon they used to stir it up.  
  
"This was a huge success," Stan says.  
  
"We haven't even tried one yet," Kyle says. "And yet, I agree. They're great." He digs out his phone and takes pictures.  
  
"Are you putting that on Facebook?" Stan asks when Kyle starts tapping around on his phone's screen afterward.  
  
"Of course," Kyle says.  
  
"Can't we even eat one before you memorialize this on social media?"  
  
"Dig in," Kyle says, still Facebooking. "I think they're firm enough to eat."  
  
Stan grabs for one of the caramel-only apples, thinking about other things that are firm enough to eat. His newest fantasy is the idea of licking Kyle's butt cheeks. If memory serves, the skin of his ass is the only place on Kyle's body where he has some light freckles.  
  
They sit out on Stan's back porch with a couple of apples, eating them in companionable quiet, nuts dropping from Stan's and M&M's from Kyle's. Kyle shrieks in protest when Stan picks up the fallen M&M's and eats them.  
  
"Five second rule," he says.  
  
"You're like an animal," Kyle says, and something about the way he pronounces the word makes Stan take it as a compliment. Kyle's phone buzzes, and he digs it out to investigate. "Cartman 'disliked' my apple picture," Kyle says.  
  
"Really? You'd think he'd be in favor of any kind of junk food imagery."  
  
"Well, I think it's the caption he objects to."  
  
"Which is what?"  
  
"'Fun afternoon of crafting with Stan.'"  
  
"Ugh, Kyle."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That word. Crafting. Is it really 'crafting,' even? When you eat the thing you made?"  
  
"I think it is," Kyle says. He sticks what remains of his apple between his teeth so he can compose a message with both thumbs. "I'm telling him he can't have one," Kyle says, speaking around the apple. "I wouldn't want him to think our arrangement includes me cooking for him, ever."  
  
"Arrangement," Stan mutters. Some brandy would be good with these apples. He keeps a fifth of it hidden in the lowest dresser drawer in his room.  
  
"Don't get all grim," Kyle says, removing the apple from his mouth. "You take everything so personally."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure you can't relate. It's not like you freak out when Clyde rides in my car or anything."  
  
"I was talking about this Kenny thing," Kyle says. "And the way -- I mean, when it happened. You really took it harder than any of us, back then."  
  
Stan shrugs and chews his apple. He doesn't want to talk about that, really. His mind immediately goes to the night after Kenny's funeral, when he and Kyle pressed their wet faces together on Stan's pillow. Their lips never touched, but it felt more real than the kisses he'd had with Wendy, and less scary, until he thought about it the next morning and started to wonder what it meant.  
  
"Well," Kyle says, sharply, as if rebuking Stan for remembering. "It will be interesting, tomorrow."  
  
"Or just sad and awful."  
  
"No, no," Kyle says lightly, but then he can't seem to come up with any reasons why it wouldn't. Stan reaches down to grab another errant M&M and pops it in his mouth. "Kenny used to do that," Kyle says. "Eat candy off the floor."  
  
"I know," Stan says.  
  
Kyle leaves shortly afterward, taking all but two of the remaining caramel apples with him. Stan eats another one after dinner, though his stomach hurts. The sugar overload fucks with his sleep schedule and he ends up tossing and turning for hours, trying not to replay the post-funeral night in bed with Kyle too vividly.  
  
Kyle had of course been upset about Kenny, too, but that night after the funeral it seemed as if it was Stan's bottomless grief was what made Kyle finally break down and cry. Stan and Kenny had gotten closer as puberty progressed, since they tended to be more mature than Cartman and Kyle, who would still come to blows over the last Oreo if they got the chance. Kenny was quieter and more introverted, and Stan could relate to that. Meanwhile, Kyle had announced to everyone who was packed into the Airport Hilton ballroom for his bar mitzvah that he was gay, and Stan felt like Kyle was suddenly speaking in some coded language that Stan could only hopelessly botch. They were still close, but the ease of being together had all but dissipated; they'd had to work at it ever since they were about ten years old and started to develop distinct personalities.  
  
Then Kenny died, not just incidentally but horrifically, violently, and in a way that was endlessly discussed by everyone in town, until all of South Park felt like a funeral. After the actual funeral, after watching Kenny's junior-sized coffin lowered into the ground, Stan truly felt like Kyle was all he had left. Stan had never been close to another friend, had alienated Wendy when he broke up with her the year before, and he was increasingly butting heads with his parents. Suddenly Kyle seemed impossibly, painfully precious, and Stan kept wanting to say, Don't go, don't leave me, but it came out only as wretched sobbing that made Kyle whimper and sniffle sympathetically, his hands pressed to Stan's cheeks as if he had to physically hold Stan together.  
  
There was no question that Kyle would spend the night, and Stan doesn't remember a discussion about it. They just got in Stan's bed together at some point, still wearing their funeral clothes. This seemed to bother Kyle, who held Stan for a while, then sat up and removed Stan's shoes. He took his own shoes off next, then Stan's tie, followed by his own tie. There was another period of just lying together sniffling, Kyle's hand resting on Stan's side, Stan's arms curled against Kyle's chest, and then the fact that they were still wearing their belts seemed to perturb Kyle. He removed them, and after another stretch of quiet and sighing, there was some timid nuzzling, which was the first thing since Kenny's death that had approached real comfort for Stan. It was exactly what he needed from Kyle in the moment: no words and no boundaries, just an extreme but comfortable closeness. The heat of Kyle's breath on Stan's face made Kyle feel so real, and less in danger of being taken away from him. Stan wanted more of him, and it didn't feel sexual in the moment. Taking a cue from Kyle's undressing of the both of them, he began to unbutton Kyle's shirt.  
  
He remembers the way Kyle's chest felt so vividly, soft and warm, the most vulnerable thing he'd ever touched. Stan ran his hands from Kyle's shoulders to his stomach and back again, everywhere, only a thin undershirt between Stan's palm and Kyle's skin. It's not the kind of Kyle memory that makes him hard; it makes his heart ache. Kyle's heart had been positively pounding while Stan touched him, and Stan moaned when he felt it, buoyed by the knowledge that Kyle was alive and safe, right there under his hands. Kyle had started crying again, and Stan thought maybe he should stop, but when he took his hands away Kyle started unbuttoning Stan's shirt.  
  
Kyle touched Stan's chest more cautiously, maybe because Stan wasn't wearing an undershirt. His fingertips were trembling at first, but when Stan pressed his face to Kyle's cheek his hands steadied. At one point, when they were both close to sleep, Kyle toyed with Stan's nipples, which made him hard, but even that seemed like no big deal at the time. How could it be, when Kenny was dead? As long as Kyle was alive and Stan wasn't alone, Kyle could do whatever he wanted to Stan's nipples. Stan fell asleep feeling content for the first time since Kenny's death.  
  
In the morning, Stan woke up with a face full of Kyle's curls, which had happened before, though not for a long time. He felt almost as if he'd been on a bender the night before, his head throbbing from all the crying and his stomach painfully empty. Kyle was still tangled around him, and Stan extracted himself, pulled his shirt shut and went across the hall to have a piss. By the time he got back, he was certain that he wouldn't fall into Kyle's arms again. Kyle was sitting up, groggy, peeking at Stan nervously.  
  
"You want some clothes?" Stan asked while Kyle finished buttoning up his wrinkled shirt. Kyle shook his head.  
  
"I should go home," Kyle said, and he did, leaving his tie and belt behind. The next time they saw each other, they didn't talk about. Stan felt sort of bad about this, but what was there to say?  
  
He's still wondering what he could have done differently, lying in bed and reeking of caramel. Should he have kissed Kyle on the lips? Did he even want to? Does he want that now? There's something about Kyle that makes him seem like an exception to all of Stan's rules. If Kenny were alive, Stan could have talked about this with him. Kenny was open minded and sexually mature. He would have been able to parse Stan's dilemma somehow.  
  
It's been a long time since Stan had a nightmare about the murders. In his dream, he's stuck inside the wall at the McCormick house, unable to help or to turn away from the spray of blood. He can feel it on his face, hot and wet. He wakes up in a panic, looking for Kyle, fumbling his pillow onto the floor. But Kyle isn't here. Stan's room is dark; the house is silent. It's after midnight: it's Halloween.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Stan skips school the next day, unwilling to spend Halloween morning and afternoon among the same people who will drive him crazy later that night. He drives toward the mountains and stops at Stark's Pond, which is empty and quiet except for some birdsong from the surrounding trees. The fall migration is almost over, and Stan hasn't spotted any out of town birds yet this season. The Sandhill Cranes won't pass through until January, so he'll have that to look forward to. January is usually hard for him, after the holidays, when winter is like a dense curtain that's been pulled around his whole world, keeping the cold in.  
  
The sun is out and it's not terribly cold yet, but it's supposed to drop down to the twenties after nightfall. Stan can smell snow in the breeze that comes down off the mountains, and it makes him a little sad and nostalgic, that scent always calling to mind the winter sports that all the neighborhood kids had played when they were young. Now they mostly stay in during the winter, only gathering for the occasional blow out party when Token's parents are both out of town on business at the same time. Usually someone has a Halloween party, but he hasn't heard anything about one this year. He gets fewer and fewer invitations to parties, and Wendy says it's because people are afraid he'll bring Cartman, Kyle, and Butters along.  
  
Those three are more or less the most disliked people at school, for various reasons. Back when they had Kenny in their gang, they had all felt pretty cool. Stan had, anyway. Kenny and Stan were like a mild tonic that eased the harsher flavors of the others. Alone, Stan is mostly negated by them. It feels especially true now that Cartman and Kyle have paired up, even if they claim to do so with their hatred for each other intact, and Butters is increasingly preoccupied with his burgeoning singing 'career.' Stan could try to infiltrate some other group of friends, but even the idea of trying to fit in elsewhere is exhausting. Everyone at school has known each other for so long, and factions of friends are pretty cemented at this point. Plus, he doesn't want to abandon Kyle to the whims of Cartman. Kyle will need to know that he's not alone with this huge mistake once he comes out of his sex coma and realizes what he's done.  
  
Stan leaves his car parked in the gravel lot by the pond and wanders around, glad for the chance to be alone with his thoughts but also feeling kind of gloomy. It's almost lunchtime. He checks his phone and sees three text messages from Kyle, all basically asking the same question: _where are you?_ Stan thinks about not answering, because it's not like Kyle tells Stan where he has all the time anymore, and why should Stan feel guilty for not reporting to Kyle like some wayward boyfriend? He waits ten minutes, but his guilt only intensifies, so he sends an answer: _skipping, come over after school_. Kyle doesn't respond, probably annoyed that Stan took so long to answer his texts. Stan's spirits are lifted a bit by the thought that Kyle was worried about him.  
  
He drives back into town and has lunch at the diner that serves special pumpkin pancakes during the mouth of October. They're kind of weird and overly orange, and Stan doesn't like them as much as he did when he was a kid, but it's tradition that he orders them at least once before the month ends. He eats them with a side of hash browns and bacon, suddenly very hungry. Having a big appetite is usually a sign that his dismal mood is diminishing, and he feels better after scarfing all the greasy food down with a few cups of coffee. He goes to an afternoon showing of _Village of the Damned_ and heads back home to have his usual post-school beat off and nap, though school won't let out for another hour.  
  
The house is empty, both of his parents still at work. When his dad gets home, they'll carve the pumpkin together, and Stan's mom will roast the seeds. Stan takes comfort in these little traditions, and in anything from his childhood that he can still enjoy unironically. Kyle is one of those things, though Stan's enjoyment of Kyle has shifted over the years, or at least recently. It might have been the Cartman thing that set it off, but lately Kyle is all Stan thinks about when he takes his dick out. Even when Kyle came out to his bar mitzvah guests, Stan never approached an actual mental image of Kyle doing gay things, and certainly not with some guy who is bigger than him and kind of rough. He hopes Cartman doesn't call Kyle names when they fuck. He hopes Kyle doesn't like that kind of thing, though if he's with Cartman, he must.  
  
Stan locks his bedroom door, takes off everything but his t-shirt and gets in bed. The sheets are cold, and he's not in a particularly aroused mood, but he closes his eyes and tries to get in one, because he'll never nap effectively without blowing a load. He closes his eyes and lets his mind drift immediately to Kyle. The days of fighting these fantasies are long past. For some reason, the image that comes to him today is Kyle crawling around on his bedroom floor on all fours, naked, with a carrot in his mouth. Why the carrot? Stan isn't sure, because it's not a horse thing, horses are not sexy, and Kyle isn't really behaving in a bunny-like manner either. He's not sucking on the carrot, just holding it between his teeth like a bit, staring at Stan expectantly. The fantasy takes a while to develop, but eventually it gets where it's going: Stan fucking Kyle from behind, hard enough that, in his pleasure, Kyle bites clean through the carrot in two places. Stan comes, then worries that Kyle might choke on the piece of carrot still in his mouth, though it's not like he's making plans for future activity here. He rolls over, hugs his pillow, and imagines cuddling Kyle in the aftermath, kissing his carroty mouth.  
  
He wakes an hour later from a bad dream about the McCormick house, the details already fuzzing away. All he knows is that he wasn't dreaming about the murders but about the forthcoming 'ghost hunt,' and that Kyle was with him, and scared. He goes downstairs, still bleary and smelling like unwashed sheets, and finds his mother in the kitchen. She's watching through the patio door as Randy cuts the top off of their pumpkin. Kyle is on the back porch with him, watching with a mildly disgusted look as the top comes off, pumpkin guts streaming out along with it.  
  
"I was about to come get you," Sharon says, touching the small of Stan's back when he stands beside her. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Stan says, surprised by the question. He feels kind of not okay, actually, and he can't put his finger on why, except that he's dreading the evening to come and Cartman's antics in Kenny's old house. "I'm fine." He wishes Kyle had come upstairs to wake him. He's always liked waking up to Kyle's prodding, gentle or not. "What's Kyle doing out there?"  
  
"I told him I'd go upstairs and get you. He sure made a mess of my kitchen yesterday."  
  
"Oh -- sorry."  
  
"He's an odd one," Sharon says, and she gives Stan a nudge toward the patio. "Save the seeds for me, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
It's chilly outside but not yet cold, and Stan thinks he can smell the oncoming festivities: candles burning inside jack-o-lanterns, candy passing into neon orange buckets, and the hint of menace that comes with the holiday. Maybe it's just the pumpkin guts he's smelling. Kyle smiles at him, which takes him off guard, though he can't remember why he thought Kyle might be annoyed with him. Stan smiles back, wanting to hug him, still a little raw from that dream where Kyle was upset and in danger.  
  
"You look like you just woke up," Kyle says. He's wearing a black sweater and looks kind of wan himself.  
  
"I had a nap," Stan says, hoping Kyle will know not to mention that Stan skipped school in front of Randy. "What kind of face are you doing?" Stan asks, kneeling down beside his dad, who is scooping pumpkin guts.  
  
"A scary one," Randy says. "Duh."  
  
"Okay, but, like. Do you have a design in mind?"  
  
"Nah, I think I'm just gonna free form it. Let the creative juices flow."  
  
"We carved a bat into ours," Kyle says, and for some reason this makes Stan cackle. "What?"  
  
"Nothing," Stan says, grinning at him. "A bat."  
  
"A bat is a perfectly reasonable jack-o-lantern carving!"  
  
"Pull the seeds out of that gunk," Randy says, handing Stan a bowl to put them in. "Your mom wants them."  
  
"I love roasted pumpkin seeds," Kyle says.  
  
"So help me harvest them," Stan says, pinching some from the slimy mound of pumpkin guts. Kyle makes a face.  
  
"Can we plant some?" he asks, keeping back. "Will they grow in Colorado?"  
  
"Sure," Stan says. He looks to his dad for confirmation, but Randy is sawing a set of angry eyebrows into the pumpkin.  
  
"What are you boys doing tonight?" Randy asks.  
  
"Oh, nothing," Kyle says hurriedly. "Watching some scary movies over at Cartman's place. That sort of thing."  
  
"You guys are still friends with that kid, huh?"  
  
"Yep," Stan says, slowly, giving Kyle a look. He widens his eyes, and Stan shakes his head. He's not going to out Kyle's arrangement to Randy. Kyle has made them all swear to keep it secret from their parents, fearing that his mother will find out. He's vividly envisioned the scenario that would play out if she knew that he was having sex with Cartman: she would slap Kyle, cry, pull him out of school, and start slipping powerful anti-psychotics into his meals. Stan isn't sure it would be all that dramatic. She'd probably be surprised, vaguely disappointed, and would buy Kyle a box of condoms. Stan wants to ask if they use condoms, but he's too afraid that Kyle will say no, they don't. Kyle was a virgin before Cartman, and Cartman has only ever had sex with Wendy, who demanded that he use condoms every time. It's possible they're both clean and bare backing. Stan hates the thought, a lot. He's not even sure they do anal. Probably they don't? He's got no idea, but it seems like something Cartman would want.  
  
"Stan!" Randy says, boggling at him when he looks up from the pumpkin guts. "Hello, did you hear me?"  
  
"Hear -- no, what?"  
  
"Hand me that little saw thing."  
  
Randy has a proper pumpkin carving set, a collection of small tools with orange handles that are crusty from pumpkins past. Stan hands it over and resumes picking out seeds.  
  
"We should head over there after this," Kyle says. "To Cartman's."  
  
"Don't you want to eat the roasted seeds first?" Stan says, and he's hurt when Kyle shrugs.  
  
"How's Cartman's mom doing?" Randy asked.  
  
"How should we know?" Stan says, his face getting red when he thinks of the many times Liane Cartman has implied that she would like to put her hand down his pants. He's always believed that if Kenny were alive, he might have gone for it. Kenny had a real fondness for Cartman's mom. Stan doesn't want his unsheathed dick anywhere near the Cartmans.  
  
"She's the same as ever," Kyle says. "You know. Bawdy."  
  
"That Cartman kid is beast," Randy says. "Saw him last weekend in the game against Bear Creek. Shit, he was unstoppable."  
  
"I guess his big fat ass is good for something," Kyle says, and Stan is embarrassed, because Kyle is trying to make him feel better. Stan quit football freshman year when it got too intense. He's not much of team player and doesn't possess a lot of school spirit, or whatever kind of spirit is required for doing caveman war chants with the coach before games and crashing through banners at pep rallies. Randy has never stopped passive aggressively giving him a hard time for quitting.  
  
"It's a good game for a violent asshole like him," Stan says.  
  
"Hey, c'mon," Randy says, giving Stan a look of betrayed disappointment that really shouldn't get to him as much as it does, because fuck what Randy thinks. "Was Elway a violent asshole? You could have been a quarterback. That takes real intelligence. Grace, even!"  
  
"We should really go," Kyle says, and Stan resents that, because he doesn't need Kyle to protect him from his father. "Speaking of Cartman's violent asshole tendencies - he'll probably be a dick if we're late."  
  
"My stomach hurts," Stan says, and it's true, because at this point all he needs to hear is asshole, dick, and Cartman in the same sentence in order to conjure gut wrenching images of Kyle on his belly, naked and surrendered to the beast. "Maybe I should just stay home."  
  
"What!" Kyle says. "No!" He looks truly upset when Stan glances up from the pumpkin sludge. "Please, I mean. Look, dude, it's Halloween."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So! The last time we spent Halloween apart it sucked major ass. You -- I mean, but. If you really don't want to--"  
  
"It's fine," Stan says, and he stands. "Just let me wash my hands."  
  
He gives the seeds to his mom and promises to be back before midnight. On the way out, the doorbell rings, and Stan grabs the bowl of assorted candy that his mom has already set out in the foyer. He opens the door, and is assaulted by a loud 'trick or treat!' from four little boys who hold their bags out for candy. There's a ninja, a wizard, a football player and a pudgy boy in a fairly elaborate dragon costume. They each mutter a hurried thank you without meeting Stan's eyes and dash for the end of the driveway, where two moms are waiting.  
  
"They're starting already?" Kyle says.  
  
"Did you see those kids?" Stan asks, shaken. Kyle just gives him a blank look. "They were -- never mind."  
  
"Oh, four boys. Yeah." Kyle squeezes Stan's arm as he sets the candy bowl down. "Dude, I don't mean to pressure you into coming to this thing. If you want--"  
  
"No, I'm coming," Stan says sharply. He grabs his jacket from the chair by the door and shrugs it on. "Let's go. Actually -- hang on. I'm gonna change my shoes."  
  
He goes up to his room, glad that Kyle remains waiting in the foyer. After changing into a pair of old Pumas that he actually doesn't want to wear, he takes the opportunity to dig his brandy out of his bottom drawer and fill the little flask he keeps alongside it. He tucks the flask into his jacket and heads back downstairs, feeling emboldened already.  
  
"Can I have a swig?" Kyle asks when Stan drinks from the flask as they walk to Cartman's house.  
  
"A swig?" Stan says, smirking at him. He's surprised; Kyle normally raises his lip at Stan's drinking.  
  
"There's nothing wrong with calling it a swig!" Kyle accepts the flask and takes a dainty sip from it. "Why are you criticizing everything I say today?"  
  
"I'm not, just. That wasn't a real swig."  
  
"Now I can't even drink your booze properly?" Kyle yanks the flask back and drinks from it more deeply, wincing when he's done. "That stuff is vile."  
  
"It's good brandy, Kyle. A twenty dollar bottle!"  
  
"It tastes like something you clean industrial surfaces with. Let me have some more."  
  
"Not if you're gonna insult it," Stan says, holding the flask out of Kyle's reach, mostly for the excuse to initiate physical contact. He laughs when Kyle struggles for it, grabbing Stan's other arm to hold him in place. At one point their faces are close, and Stan can smell the brandy on Kyle's breath. He loses his focus and Kyle manages to snatch the flask. "Don't spill it," Stan says, watching him drink.  
  
"I feel like getting drunk," Kyle says. "I've never done it."  
  
"I'll take care of you if you do," Stan says, pinching the back of Kyle's neck. "Unless Cartman -- are you going home with him, after?"  
  
"I don't know," Kyle says, avoiding Stan's eyes. "I guess we'll see how the night plays out."  
  
They're both quiet for a while, trading sips from the flask. Stan feels like he knows what Kyle is thinking, but he's been wrong about that before.  
  
"So your dad is an idiot," Kyle says after they've been walking in silence for some time.  
  
"Duh," Stan says, and he winces, because he sounds like Randy. "Just -- I don't want to talk about it. It's fine."  
  
"My mom gives me a hard time about quitting the debate team," Kyle says, too eagerly. "I just couldn't handle Wendy and Cartman and their melodramatic shouting any more. Then they'd go fuck in a broom closet after, ugh."  
  
"How can you act like that's gross and then -- shit, never mind."  
  
"Heterosexual sex is gross to me, Stan."  
  
"Okay."  
  
The plan is to meet up with Cartman and Butters at the old McCormick house at dusk, and the skies are darkening as they head toward the railroad tracks that separate their neighborhood from the bad side of town. Since the murders, the small enclave of low income houses have become more sparsely populated, and Stan's nerves prickle as the sounds of scampering trick-or-treaters fade into the distance and the streets grow quiet. He's a little ticked that Kyle is drinking from his flask, because it means less of a buzz for Stan, and he was counting on that buzz to get him through the night. Still, it's nice to have Kyle interested in sharing something with him. A jingle from what sounds like a dog collar echoes from one of the nearby yards as they approach the train tracks, and they both startle, their shoulders bumping together as they look around for the errant dog. There's nothing; the streets are quiet again.  
  
"Why do you always say you've seen Kenny's ghost?" Kyle asks. He sounds a little drunk already. Stan wishes they were at home, eating hot roasted pumpkin seeds. They're not as good the next day.  
  
"I don't know," Stan says, though he does know: he felt it like a sword through the chest every time he saw Kenny. "Maybe I was just imagining things."  
  
Kyle's pace has slowed. Stan can see Cartman and Butters up ahead, on the weedy front lawn of the boarded up McCormick house. It sits there like a tomb made of particle board and cheap siding, dark and silent. A hole in the roof is covered by a sagging blue tarp, and in a bush on the periphery Stan spots a shred of police caution tape among some other litter. Butters is waving to them, grinning like everything's fine while Cartman messes with his video camera.  
  
"Good, you're here," Cartman says. "We were starting to lose our light."  
  
"Eric wants to do the intro shots out here on the lawn," Butters says. "Giving the background story and so forth."  
  
"The background story?" Stan says. His stomach lurches, and he looks at the house. The door is boarded up like the windows, and there's no need for a NO TRESPASSING sign, just like there would be no point in a FOR SALE sign. "How are we even going to get in?"  
  
"What do you think this is for?" Cartman asks, lifting a crow bar from the assortment of equipment that he's piled in the front yard. Something about the way he wields it with a smirk makes Stan's stomach twist up more tightly. This is the guy who puts his hands on Kyle behind closed doors. Cartman, who looks so natural with a crow bar in his hand.  
  
"Can we just take a minute, please?" Kyle says.  
  
"A minute for what?" Cartman asks.  
  
"Just -- Jesus!" Kyle looks at the house, frowning. "A minute for respectful, like. Contemplation."  
  
"Ugh, God," Cartman says, but he turns to look at the house with the rest of them, dropping the crow bar. The house stares back at them, decrepit and foreboding. Stan wonders how thoroughly it was cleaned. He considers what Kyle said at lunch that day, that Kenny would be into this whole adventure if he was alive. Stan suspects that Kenny would have gone along with something like this, but it wouldn't have been his idea. Few of their childhood schemes were.  
  
"Alright," Cartman says after a few heavy seconds. "Let's get this show on the road. Butters, we're doing this segment with no filter. Kyle, I've set up the lights, just keep them out of the frame. Stan, you're on boom mike."  
  
"I still want to know what you had to sell to get all of this shit," Stan says.  
  
"I have resources, Stan, okay?" Cartman is fixing his hair, preparing for his starring role in his self-produced ghost hunting show that gets a depressingly high number of YouTube views. He's wearing his white button-down shirt that shows up well on camera at night, the first three buttons undone to show an over-sized cross necklace and some disgustingly sparse chest hair. "I'm an entrepreneur," Cartman says.  
  
Stan lifts the boom mike, squeezing his hands around it tightly and wishing he was wringing Cartman's fat neck. He doesn't want to be here, bearing witness to star linebacker Eric Cartman's mysteriously self-funded ghost show, at the expense of Kenny's memory, but if Stan wasn't here, Kyle would have to hold the mike, and his arms get tired.  
  
"Rolling!" Butters says, and Cartman's usual shit-eating expression morphs into one of grave seriousness. Stan hoists the mike, feeling miserably sober despite the brandy.  
  
"Good evening, friends," Cartman says, speaking to his future viewers. The sunlight is fading behind him, the empty street lined with weather-worn houses serving as the background. "We come to you tonight, on All Hallow's Eve, from a location that is a grim reminder of personal tragedy for our team. Tonight, the Midnight Society -- led by me, President Eric Cartman -- investigates the site of one of the grisliest murders in Park County history. It was also, tragically, the place where one of our beloved childhood friends drew his final breaths. Tonight, we investigate--" He pauses, stepping toward the house as Butters turns to capture it in the shot. "--The McCormick Murder Den."  
  
"You're not supposed to call it that!" Kyle says when Cartman has cut the scene.  
  
"Says who?" Cartman asks. He grabs for his duffel full of 'ghost hunting' supplies. "Wendy? Pfff. I don't have to listen to that bitch anymore. Butters, get some footage of me walking into the backyard. There's a really sweet rusted old swing set back there, it'll be great for atmosphere."  
  
"We used to play on that swing set," Stan says, remembering the smell of venison steaks from the back patio. Kenny's dad had hunted with Jimbo and Ned.  
  
"Maybe you did," Cartman says. "But I wasn't allowed to play in Kenny's yard. My mom said I might step on a heroin needle and get AIDS. Butters, we're rolling, keep up!"  
  
Stan glances at Kyle, trying to gauge if he's hating this, too. Kyle just looks nervous, and he keeps close to Stan as they head into the backyard. Cartman pushes one of the swings and then steps out of the frame so Butters can shoot it as if its been set in motion by a ghostly wind.  
  
"I feel weird," Kyle says, looking around the backyard. The old Webster grill that once sat on the back patio is gone, but some busted plastic chairs are still there, the seats covered with rotting leaves and shallow puddles.  
  
"Yeah, no kidding," Stan says. "This is wrong. People died here. People we knew." He'd almost said _people we loved_. Did he love Kenny as a kid? He certainly never would have thought of it in those terms, but there was a kind of brotherly closeness between them, unexamined but not unimportant.  
  
"No, I mean I feel sick," Kyle says. "Or just -- Stan, I think I might be drunk."  
  
"Well, congratulations. That's what you wanted, right? To liven up this party?"  
  
"Don't be mad," Kyle says, softly enough to make Stan feel guilty, though still mad.  
  
"Alright, get me the light and the mic!" Cartman shouts, and the volume of his voice sets Stan on edge, as if someone might hear them. He supposes it's a legitimate fear -- they are technically trespassing, but the police presence in this part of town isn't very significant, and the neighboring houses look empty and dark, weeds growing tall in every yard. After the murders, neighbors moved as far away as they could afford to. The house seemed like an evil talisman, radiating a hum of danger that threatened to ensnare anyone in reach. It still seems that way, to Stan. The screens on the back patio doors are both torn to shreds, plywood covered in graffiti put up in their place. The whole back side of the house is loaded with overlapping spray paint. Dripping Pentagrams are a common theme.  
  
They set up the shot with the swing set in the background, the sky glowing orange from behind the tree line. Cartman adjusts his cross necklace and tells Butters to start rolling. Stan's arms are shaking when he lifts the boom mike. He's got his back to the house, and he feels like it's watching him hatefully.  
  
"To those of us who reside in South Park, it's a familiar story," Cartman says, giving the camera his steely ghost hunter stare. "The McCormicks were a family of modest means, and some in town were cruel enough to call them a classic example of white trash. Stuart, the father, was chronically unemployed, and Carol, the matriarch, did little more than smoke and drink whatever she could find -- including during her three pregnancies."  
  
"That's not true!" Stan says, glowering. It might be, but how the hell would Cartman know?  
  
"Yeah, stop editorializing and get on with it," Kyle says. "It's getting cold and I'm pretty sure this is illegal."  
  
"Enough comments from the peanut gallery!" Cartman says, and Stan notices that he's lowered his voice, which is enough of an acknowledgment that yes, of course this is illegal, and Cartman knows it. "Butters, you're still rolling?"  
  
"Sure am!"  
  
"Alright." Cartman clears his throat and makes his face serious again. "The McCormicks had three children - two boys and a girl, Karen, the youngest of the siblings. The middle son, Kenny, was a personal friend -- some might even say he was my best friend." Cartman pauses here to look down at his shoes and sigh. "Kenny was a quiet, thoughtful boy," Cartman says when he looks up again. "A bit on the shy side, but a good and loyal friend. He didn't deserve the fate he met here in this house. None of them did."  
  
Cartman strides toward the leaf-covered back patio, and Butters follows him with the camera, Stan and Kyle trailing after him with the light and microphone. Stan glances at the only window that's not boarded up, torn plywood lying on the ground below it. There is no glass, no screen, just darkness from within the house.  
  
"It seems that, in their desperation for some kind of income, the McCormicks had turned to dealing drugs." Cartman says so with a hint of pitying disapproval. Stan tightens his hands around the boom mike, wanting to hit him. The only reason he hasn't done so in the past two months, since the revelation about Kyle and the hate sex, is that Cartman could handily kick his ass. That wasn't true until recently, and suddenly everything seems so wrong and backward that Stan thinks his legs will give out.  
  
"Local police eventually determined that the McCormicks had offended a dealer who named them as traitors to a powerful drug cartel with ties to Mexico. As we all know, those _hombres_ don't mess around when it comes to revenge. And revenge came, here, to the McCormick family household on a chilly evening in early October, four years ago. My friend Kenny was thirteen years old. I remember that day, and how I'd given him half of my ham sandwich at school, because he didn't have a lunch that day."  
  
"Bullshit!" Stan shouts, letting the mike drop. From the age of eleven or so, Kenny never accepted handouts from them, least of all from Cartman.  
  
"It's called storytelling, Stan," Cartman says. "It's important! I'm setting the mood, okay, making Kenny into a human being instead of just a statistic!"  
  
"Yeah, and making yourself sound like a human being in the meantime," Kyle says. "When you're actually not -- Jesus, you used to steal candy from Kenny when you could. Ham sandwich my ass."  
  
"Kyle, shut the fuck up," Cartman says mildly, and Stan starts toward them, but it's just a flinch. There's no point in tackling him; Stan hasn't tackled anyone since he quit the team. He feels Kyle staring at him and picks up the mike.  
  
"No more embellishments," Stan says tightly. "Just tell it like it is and let's get this over with."  
  
"Yeah, Eric, please!" Butters says, still filming. "I'm getting kind of spooked."  
  
"Fine, you fucking pussies." Cartman presses his hair back into place. The wind is picking up as the last of the glow from the sunset disappears. "The McCormicks were having their usual nightly meal of frozen waffles, or maybe it was Pop Tarts. Despite the meager sustenance, it was a happy time, as the family was all together under one roof, and Stuart and Carol had almost certainly enjoyed some alcoholic beverages. They were sitting down to watch some television, maybe to smoke some pot as well, after the kids had gone to bed. There was a knock on the door." Cartman walks over to the plywood covering the patio doors and gives it three slow, foreboding knocks.  
  
"Don't do that," Kyle says, almost softly enough not to be heard on tape.  
  
"Stuart McCormick answered the door," Cartman continues, ignoring Kyle. "It wasn't unusual for associates in his line of business to come calling late at night. But he didn't recognize these three men, who had tanned skin and cold eyes."  
  
This was Cartman's method of indicating that the men were Mexican. It was only a popular theory. Though the murders were almost definitely drug-related, the actual perpetrators had never been caught.  
  
"What happened next, only the dead could tell us," Cartman says. "Although there was one survivor. When Kenny woke to shouts from the living room, he hurried his sister Karen into a closet in the family's single bathroom. Inside that closet was a water heater which sometimes worked, and behind that water heater was a space that was just wide enough for the underfed young girl to squeeze into. It seemed that my friend Kenny had anticipated that this kind of trouble might someday come knocking, and he made use of the hiding space for his sister quickly. As he dashed back into the hall, perhaps planning to hide elsewhere himself, he was met with the first of many knife wounds. He would be stabbed over twenty-seven times before the attack was through, some blows severing limbs and digits. The attackers were said to have used a machete on Kenny on his older brother. In the next room, amid a chaos of screams and the throaty growl of a chain saw, their parents were chopped to pieces."  
  
Stan wants to tell Cartman to stop, to shut up, but this part is true. Stan's mouth is dry, and his eyes are burning at the corners. He'd intentionally tried to avoid looking at any pictures from the scene of the crime, but they were everywhere on newspaper stands for weeks, and he would sometimes catch an image on the front page from the corner of his eye: a bloody hand print on the house's front window, the encrusted machete that was recovered two miles from the scene of the crime, and the body bags that were wheeled out when the investigators had learned all they could from where the McCormicks had fallen.  
  
"Karen McCormick was discovered alive hours after police arrived on the scene," Cartman says. "Neighbors had complained of screams from the house next door. Little Karen was still hiding behind the water heater when police searched the house. They say she closed her eyes as uniformed officers carried her out to safety. Would you be able to resist a peek at what had become of your loved ones after the screams finally stopped?"  
  
"Enough," Kyle says, before Stan can. Kyle drops the lights and Stan lowers the mike, his arms shaking. "I thought this was a ghost hunt, not some true crime special. Let's go inside and get this over with."  
  
"I'm setting the mood, dumb ass," Cartman says. He groans and picks up the crow bar. "But I guess it's about that time. Stand back, bitches."  
  
"Can't we just go in through that window?" Stan asks, gesturing to the one that's been broken open, revealing the empty blackness inside the house. Kyle snorts.  
  
"Cartman wouldn't fit," he says, and Stan smirks at him.  
  
"That's right," Cartman says, glowering. "I'm sure you three waifish ladies could slip in easily, but one of us here is an actual man, okay, with man-like dimensions."  
  
"Yeah, go ahead and brag that you've got the stomach of a forty year old," Kyle says.  
  
"Like hell, Kyle, and I don't hear you complaining when my extra large balls are slapping against your ass."  
  
Kyle opens his mouth and then shuts it, giving Cartman a hateful snarl. Cartman grins and turns to wedge the crow bar under the plywood. For a moment, Stan is so distracted by his rage toward Cartman that he forgets to dread what's about to happen. The plywood cracks away easily, and after a few grunts Cartman has completely cleared one half of what used to be the sliding glass doors. Stan remembers translucent stickers on them: butterflies and flowers, things that Karen or maybe Carol had put there.  
  
"Alright," Cartman says, slightly breathless. He tucks the crow bar into his belt. "Let's, uh. Go in and get our bearings, scope out a good filming location."  
  
Stan can see that even Cartman is nervous now. He makes Butters go in first, and Kyle follows. Stan trails him closely, not willing to be outside for even half a second while Kyle is in there, despite how much he doesn't want to be there himself. At first, he can't see anything but Butters' flashlight beam up ahead. Kyle left the back light they were using at dusk outside; it's not powerful enough to illuminate this kind of darkness. Stan gropes for Kyle and finds him easily, taking hold of Kyle's shoulders as they both shuffle into what was the kitchen. The linoleum tiling is peeling and damp, and the whole house reeks of mildew.  
  
"Are you okay?" Kyle asks in a whisper as Cartman bumbles in behind them, cursing about spiderwebs, the beam of his flashlight jerking around in a disorienting fashion.  
  
"Yeah," Stan says. "Or, no. I don't know."  
  
"Stan."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Alright," Cartman says, knocking his way past them. "I'm thinking we start shooting in the living room, where most of the killing went down."  
  
"Great," Kyle says, and Cartman shines the light on him. Stan is still holding Kyle's shoulders. He wonders if Cartman gives a shit. "Lead the way, fat ass."  
  
"Stan, you peeing your pants back there?" Cartman asks, pointing the flashlight beam at his face.  
  
"No," Stan says, and he lets go of Kyle. Cartman snickers and heads toward the living room, where the light from Butters' flashlight is already bouncing around. Stan isn't sure if he resents or appreciates that Kyle reaches back to take his hand as they follow Cartman.  
  
The smell is worse as they head deeper into the house, more animal-like. The furniture is all gone, and the living room carpet has been completely ripped out. There are dark stains on the concrete floor that remains, but it's hard to tell if they're anything more sinister than the evidence of water damage. Stan is apprehensive when Cartman turns on the camera, not wanting to see the shadows in the corners illuminated by the greenish night vision glow.  
  
"It's so empty," Butters says quietly, standing near the boarded up front windows.  
  
"What the hell did you expect?" Cartman asks. "Even the most desperate bum wouldn't squat in here. Take the camera, Jesus." Suddenly Cartman is in a hurry, too, shoving the camera into Butters' hands. Butters passes Stan his flashlight, and Kyle takes Cartman's. "Kyle, you're on EVP. The duffel's right there by your feet. Stan, where the hell is the boom mike?"  
  
"I left it outside," Stan says. "I don't think it would work in here, it's too cramped."  
  
"Jesus Christ," Cartman says. "Someday I won't have to -- to work with amateurs." He's flustered, toying with the cross necklace. "Alright, Butters, action."  
  
"Wait," Kyle says.  
  
"For what?" Cartman barks. "I don't have all night, Kyle. You're the one who wanted to fuck after this."  
  
"I don't -- stop making shit up!" Kyle shouts. Stan can't see him get red-faced in this light, but can feel it, like the temperature in the room has risen slightly. "I didn't -- ugh, just. Listen. Before you start saying God knows what about Pop Tarts, I have something I want to say."  
  
"Kyle, you're not camera ready, so don't even--"  
  
"I don't mean on camera! I mean, just. To Kenny, or whatever."  
  
"Oh, Kyle, Kenny's not here," Butters says. "He's -- well, he's up in heaven, with his mom and dad and his big brother." Butters sounds like he might cry, and under the present circumstances this makes Stan's eyes well up a bit. This place doesn't feel anything like the house where Stan ate venison burgers and looked at _Playboy_ with burning cheeks. It's been stripped bare of everything but a sense of hopeless decay.  
  
"Fine, then he'll hear me from heaven," Kyle says. "If he's up there wondering why the fuck we're in his house." Kyle moves closer to Stan, who both resents and appreciates that Kyle is probably doing this for his benefit. "Kenny," Kyle says, and he sighs. "We miss you. You were cooler than us. You probably would have been a good looking guy by now, and you deserve to be alive to enjoy that. Your life was never all that easy, which sucks, but you took it like a man. No, not like a man, that's -- that's sexist, but you know what I mean. You weren't bitter, or anything like that. You were good, and you died saving your sister. I -- I like to think you were okay with that, at least."  
  
"Amen," Cartman barks before any of them can absorb that. "Now action, Butters, goddammit!"  
  
Cartman starts talking about the ghostly presence of suffering spirits, and Stan takes Kyle's hand again. Kyle threads his fingers through Stan's and squeezes. In the dark, Stan feels connected to Kyle in a way that he hasn't since the night of Kenny's funeral, the last time they reached for each other without thinking. Just holding on tight feels like something that will keep them safe, or send Kyle's message all the way to Kenny, wherever he is.  
  
"I'm feeling a very strong presence here," Cartman says, squatting down to put his fingers against the cement. "Yes, I think – I think someone took their last, blood-gurgling breath here. Kenny's mom, perhaps?"  
  
"Don't speculate," Kyle says. "It's unscientific."  
  
"Shh!" Cartman hisses. "Kyle, what do you know about paranormal science? I'm – I'm feeling, oh my God. Did you guys hear that?"  
  
"Hear what?" Stan asks. Cartman always puts on this act during his ghost hunter show. He'll probably end up some kind of millionaire bullshit psychic who lies to people for a living. It's not like it's hard.  
  
"A ghostly whisper," Cartman says, lowering his voice in a theatrical way. Stan's eyes well up again, because he can't believe they're here, really here, in the place where Kenny died, and this is what they're fucking doing. "It was coming from over there – Kyle, do you have the EVP meter running?"  
  
"It's an audio recorder, and yes."  
  
"Good, good, 'cause I'm gonna want to review this audio later. Whoa – you guys, did you just feel a chill?"  
  
"Stop it!" Stan shouts, so loudly that Butters jerks around and points the camera at him. "Just – stop it, Cartman, it's fucking enough—"  
  
"Wait," Kyle says. He lets go of Stan's hand. "I – did you guys hear that?"  
  
"Please," Stan says, looking at Kyle, his voice cracking. He'll give up on almost everything if Kyle is in on it, part of Cartman's soulless plan to pretend that some remnant of Kenny is still here. But Kyle's eyes are wide with real fear, and Stan hears it, too: a harsh scraping sound coming from the kitchen, like a knife dragging over the stove.  
  
"Fellas?" Butters says, lowering the camera.  
  
"It's just – it's a rat," Cartman says.  
  
"Not a ghost?" Stan says. "That's not what you want? Huh?"  
  
"Stan!" Kyle tugs on his arm, and even in the inadequate illumination from the flashlights, Stan can see that he's still scared.  
  
"That's, uh," Cartman says, walking backward, because there are footsteps now, and a sinister, quiet laughter. "That's – that's—" He comes up with no words for the approaching noises, but yanks the crow bar from his belt.  
  
"Stan," Kyle says, again, and Stan squeezes Kyle's hand more tightly, wishing he had a crow bar. Someone is walking toward them, cackling low. Stan thinks of the drug dealers who killed the McCormicks, the chain saw that was never found.  
  
He trips and falls backward when three shadowy figures dash into the living room area, and Kyle stumbles down against the concrete floor behind him. Stan throws his arms out, as if his pathetic shield of flesh and bone could really protect Kyle from whatever's coming.  
  
"No – no!" Cartman shouts, running toward the boarded up front door, his crow bar striking it weakly. Butters shrieks, and above the ruckus Stan hears something he recognizes: Wendy's laugh.  
  
“They're gonna hit us with that thing,” Craig says, stepping out from behind Wendy. Kyle is shining his flashlight on them, the beam of light shaking. Token is with them, looking less amused than the other two.  
  
“Stay back!” Cartman shouts, his voice pitching wildly as he waves the crow bar. “Wah – Wendy?”  
  
“Oh, Eric, relax.” Wendy is beaming in the trembling glow of the flashlights, and she clicks on one of her own, holding it under her chin. “You knew it was us, right? Are you guys filming?”  
  
“Turn it off!” Cartman growls, and Butters yelps, scrambling to make sure the camera isn't recording. “You bitch,” Cartman says, turning back to Wendy. “What the hell is this? You have to take everything from me? _Everything_?”  
  
“Whoa,” Kyle mutters.  
  
"I'm not taking anything, Jesus!" Wendy says. "We just wanted to make sure you guys hadn't been eaten by ghosts or something." She laughs again, and Craig snickers in the obnoxious way that had sounded deeply menacing when it came from the dark kitchen.  
  
"This is fucked up," Token says as Wendy points the flashlight around the living room, Cartman still fuming and muttering about nosy bitches. Stan realizes he's essentially sitting on Kyle and stands, pulling Kyle up with him.  
  
"It's sad," Wendy says, her smile fading as she trails her flashlight beam across the dirty floor. "That's what it is, sad. Oh, Eric, stop looking at me like that. We just wanted to make sure you were okay, really."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Craig says. "How many of you wet your pants just now?"  
  
"I want to leave," Kyle whispers, standing close behind Stan and whispering in his ear. For a moment Stan is afraid that Kyle did indeed wet his pants. When he turns to look at Kyle he thinks it's probably something less literal but more intense. Kyle's eyes are wide and frightened, as if whatever _he_ heard is still in the house, lurking.  
  
"Okay," Stan whispers back. "Okay, we can go."  
  
"Get the hell out of here," Cartman bellows at Wendy and the other two, pointing back toward the kitchen. "I'm working. We're doing a shoot."  
  
"Please, Eric, this place gives me the worst feeling," Wendy says, and she seems sincere. "I was going to let you guys stew in your own delusional juices, but I don't like the idea of you hanging around here. Come on -- we can all go do a bonfire by the pond or something semi normal."  
  
"Go burn your bras by yourself! I don't need your concern, Wendy, okay, so get out!"  
  
"It smells like ass in here," Craig says. "Let's just go."  
  
"I have to pick up Nichole," Token says, and Stan can see the glow of his phone when he checks it.  
  
"Yes, yes, scamper away," Cartman says. "Cowards, be gone."  
  
"Right," Craig says. "You're the one who was screaming 'no, nooo!!' at the first sound of a foot fall."  
  
"It's for my show, Craig, you idiot! I have to act scared so the audience will be scared! Fucking duh!"  
  
"Yeah, right, you were on the verge of tears."  
  
"Stan," Kyle whispers again while Craig and Cartman continue to fight, walking toward each other as if it might come to blows. Cartman could snap Craig in half, but Craig is vicious and probably a biter. Stan turns to Kyle and squeezes his shoulder.  
  
"We can just leave," Stan says, hopefully. "We don't have to stay here just because -- what?" There are enough flashlights on now to partially illuminate Kyle's face. His expression has gone from frightened to pale white horror. "What, dude, what's wrong?"  
  
"Who, um," Kyle says. He's shaking so hard that Stan takes off his jacket and throws it around Kyle's shoulders. "Who is that?" Kyle asks, wide-eyed and staring at something behind Stan.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"That -- there--"  
  
Stan turns in the direction Kyle is looking. Wendy has joined in on Cartman and Craig's argument, and the room is noisy, crowded. The three of them are gathered near the center while Butters films the confrontation, Token watching and Stan and Kyle lingering close. There's an eighth person standing in the far corner, hidden in the shadows. It's a tall, human-shaped silhouette, only faintly illuminated by the light in the center of the room.  
  
"Wendy," Stan says. He dropped his flashlight when they were startled, and he's afraid to look for it, afraid to pull his eyes away from the figure in the corner. He can feel it looking back at him, and his heart is starting to pound like an alarm has sounded, a warning to run. "Wendy!"  
  
"What?" she turns from Cartman and points her flashlight at Stan and Kyle.  
  
"Did you. Is there. Did someone else come with you?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Is there. Is that Clyde, or. Or who--"  
  
"Clyde? Huh?"  
  
Stan points, though he's afraid to see. There's a silence coming from the person in the corner that is so cold he can feel it. Wendy moves her flashlight beam in the direction Stan has indicated.  
  
Wendy shrieks when her flashlight lands on the stone-faced man standing in the corner, staring at them, then everyone seems to scream at once when they realize what they're seeing. He's older, but it's unmistakable: it's Kenny McCormick.  
  
Kenny stands there for one or two heartbeats, unblinking, then dashes into the darkened hallway that leads to what was once his bedroom.  
  
"Keh -- kah--" Wendy huffs while Craig continues shrieking girlishly and Butters chants 'oh God, oh Jesus!' Kyle is holding onto Stan's waist, hiding behind him, his breath coming fast near Stan's ear. Stan's vision is tunneling in the disorienting dark, and for a moment he thinks he'll pass out.  
  
"You saw him, too?" Stan manages to say, mostly speaking to Kyle.  
  
"Get him!" Cartman roars, and he goes tearing into the hallway, Butters following him with the camera. "We have to get this on tape!"  
  
"Wait!" Wendy cries, and she runs after them, Token following. Craig trails them, making a low whimpering sound. Stan takes Kyle's hand.  
  
"You saw him?" he says. They've been left in the dark, all of the flashlights gone. Stan brings his face close to Kyle's, needing to feel the heat of his shallow, panicked breath.  
  
"Stan," Kyle says. "He was here. The whole time. He was alive."  
  
"No," Stan says, because that doesn't make sense. There was a funeral. Had the casket been empty? "C'mon." Stan takes Kyle's hand and pulls him toward the noise of the others, toward the light.  
  
In the room that was once Kenny's, Cartman is shoving Butters through the open window, into the backyard. He hands Butters the camera and then hoists Wendy through the window, shouting that he'll meet them outside, and not to let Kenny out of their sight. Stan has tried this before. It's so hard to keep up with him once he's given chase. Token and Craig go through the window, and Stan runs after Cartman, pulling Kyle behind him.  
  
"Wait," Stan says, because he doesn't want Cartman chasing Kenny. Whatever Kenny is -- real, between worlds, or long dead -- he didn't look glad to have company. "Cartman!" Stan shouts as they run through the back door and out into the yard. "What the hell!" He's surprised Cartman can run so fast.  
  
"This is incredible!" Cartman says, sounding like he's talking to himself. "This is concrete evidence! I'm gonna be famous for real!"  
  
"Cartman, you idiot!" Kyle says. "He's not a fucking ghost!" Kyle lets go of Stan's hand and runs along beside him as they chase after Cartman. Token and Craig are running twenty feet or so ahead of them, trailing Wendy, and Stan can just faintly see Butters in the distance. He can't see Kenny anymore, but Butters seems to be pursuing something with intent.  
  
"He is a ghost, Kyle!" Cartman shouts, pumping his arms as he runs. "He's my ghost, I found him, and Butters better be getting a goddamn good shot up there!"  
  
"Why is he running?" Kyle asks, beginning to lose his breath already. He looks over at Stan, who can't really piece together his thoughts about any of this yet. "You -- you always said the ghost ran from you. I thought you were losing your mind!"  
  
"Well, the feeling was mutual," Stan says, looking back to Cartman. "Maybe we should stop. We'll never catch him."  
  
"Like hell we won't!" Cartman says. He throws himself forward like a cannonball, taking huge strides as the others head into the woods.  
  
Ever since Stan started having what Randy describes obliquely as 'emotional problems' he's been susceptible to random bouts of intense happiness just as often as he gets a sudden sense of crippling hopelessness. He can never predict what will bring either state on, and never would have guessed that dashing into the woods beside Kyle with their friends running ahead of them, including one who is supposed to be dead, would bring on a slow but steadily growing euphoria. By the time they're deep in the woods and jumping over rocks and tree roots, Stan feels like he might start laughing uncontrollably at any moment. It's all mixed up with his confusion over what is even happening here, which itself is starting to feel hilarious. There is something not necessarily funny but _fun_ about this chase, in a completely nonsensical way.  
  
The fun ends when they clear the edge of the woods and find Butters and Wendy standing in the middle of the street of a nicer suburban area, not far from where Cartman and Liane live. Butters and Wendy are both red-faced and panting, and so are Token and Craig when they skid to a stop in front of them. There are still some trick-or-treaters making the rounds down the street, a few packs of older kids who are unsupervised.  
  
"Butters!" Cartman screams. "Why are you stopping! Did you get him on film?"  
  
"He lost -- lost me, Eric!" Butters says. "I don't know what I filmed -- I tried to get him on there!"  
  
"Where did he go?" Kyle asks, running up to Wendy. "Which direction?"  
  
"I don't know," she says. "I was just following Butters!"  
  
"He -- he's around here somewhere," Butters says, turning in circles while Cartman looks at the footage on the camera's preview screen. "Ah -- I don't know, I lost sight of him as we were comin' out of the woods."  
  
"This is fucking crazy," Craig says. "What the hell is happening?"  
  
"Was it really him?" Token asks.  
  
"Yeah," Kyle says. "It was him. I _felt_ it."  
  
"Me too," Wendy says, and her lip shakes. "Oh my god, what -- what does this mean?"  
  
"It means there's a fuckin' ghost around here somewhere, and he's not getting away from me." Cartman growls and thrusts the camera back into Butters' hands. "You didn't get shit!"  
  
"I was running, Eric!"  
  
"There!" Wendy shouts, and Stan jerks like a shot has been fired, whirling toward her. She's pointing to a house across the street. "There he is!"  
  
They all watch as someone in a pale blue shirt and ripped jeans catapults himself through a window on the ground floor of the house. Stan didn't turn in time to see the guy's hair or face, and he doesn't remember noticing what Kenny was wearing when they saw him standing in the corner.  
  
"Are you sure?" Stan asks.  
  
"That's Bebe's house," Craig says, and Wendy tears off in that direction, as if she's going to save Bebe from imminent death.  
  
"Wait!" Cartman shouts. "Give me that," he says to Butters, ripping the camera out of his hands before running after Wendy. The rest of them follow, Stan's lungs beginning to burn in the cold air. Kyle is still wearing his jacket, his arms threaded through the sleeves now.  
  
"What the hell are we doing?" Kyle asks as they all thunder into Bebe's yard. There's a jack-o-lantern on her front porch, but the candle has been blown out and the front windows are dark, the universal neighborhood sign that they've run out of candy. There is a pinkish light coming from the window that the guy in the blue shirt climbed through, and Wendy gasps when she reaches it. Cartman comes up behind her, the camera raised.  
  
"Holy shit," he says.  
  
Stan can't see anything when he gets there, because Cartman is hefting his huge frame through the window, following Wendy inside. Craig and Token climb through next, and Stan can hear Bebe and Wendy exchanging heated words inside the room while Cartman films something. There's no sign of Kenny until Stan follows Kyle into the room, and then there he is, wide-eyed and frightened, pressed back into the corner of Bebe's room like Boo Radley.  
  
"Praise Jesus!" Butters yelps as he throws himself through the window, the last one to make it through. "Kenny! You're alive!"  
  
This shuts Wendy and Bebe up, and Craig and Token are staring openly, stunned. Kyle is panting and hanging back near the window. Cartman is filming, cackling to himself as if counting the riches that will soon accumulate for this proof of the afterlife. But it's clear to Stan the moment he meets Kenny's eyes, and in hindsight he feels like it was clear the last four times he saw Kenny, too: this isn't a ghost. Butters is right. Kenny is standing here in the room with them, looking terrified, alive. Bebe runs over and throws her arms in front of him as if to shield him from gun fire.  
  
"I can explain!" she says, but then she goes quiet, her eyes darting from face to face while everyone stares at Kenny. Stan's heart is still pounding as the collective silence in the room seems to settle around them like a mist.  
  
"Hi," Kenny says, glancing at each of them warily. His voice is deeper than Stan remembers. He's taller than Bebe, hunching his shoulders like he wants to crouch behind her.  
  
When Stan throws up all over Cartman's shoes, Kenny is the only one in the room who doesn't shout with disgusted surprise.


	3. Chapter 3

After the brandy and pumpkin pancakes have left his stomach, Stan experiences a fleeting sense of relief that is immediately followed by horror and embarrassment. The first absurd thought that surfaces is that he just threw up in front of Kenny. Cartman is screaming about the barf on his shoes as if their dead friend isn't standing in the corner looking nervous.  
  
"Okay," Craig says. "What the fuck."  
  
"Goddammit, it's all over me!" Cartman says. "Sick!"  
  
"Eric!" Wendy says. "Jesus Christ, let it go for five seconds! Bebe, what in the hell is going on?"  
  
"It's - it's kind of a long story," Bebe says. She lowers her arms and turns to Kenny. "Or maybe it's really not. Are you okay?" she asks, muttering this. He nods unconvincingly.  
  
"You're alive?" Kyle says, still hanging back from the rest of the group. Stan wipes vomit from his chin and tries to meet Kenny's eyes, but Kenny is looking down at Bebe's shoulder.  
  
"Obviously he's alive," Bebe says. "And he's just - this is too much, there are too many of you in here. Everybody, just. Go out to the living room. My parents are in Denver at some costume party thing."  
  
"Your parents know he's here?" Stan says.  
  
"No, no." Bebe glances around at each of them, looking queasy. "He kind of lives in my closet."  
  
"What!" Wendy shouts. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Because - look, like I said, I'll explain, but you guys need to give him some space. This is too much for him, all at once."  
  
Stan scoffs and waits for Kenny to tell Bebe that she's being ridiculous, but he just goes on staring at her shoulder. His hands are on her waist, and he looks like he's holding on pretty tight, still breathing hard from the chase.  
  
"Fine," Craig says. "But I'm raiding the liquor cabinet. This is too fucked up to do sober."  
  
"My parents don't have a liquor cabinet," Bebe says. "And nobody's raiding shit - you guys just barged into my house, okay? It's kind of not cool."  
  
"Oh, sorry for ignoring etiquette," Cartman says. "It's not like a fucking ghost just crawled into your bedroom window or anything."  
  
"He's not a ghost!" Bebe points to her bedroom door. "Now march, everyone."  
  
Stan walks out last, not wanting to let Kenny out of his sight. Bebe has turned to whisper to him as the others walk out, and Kenny is nodding glumly, his face hovering over hers. She gives him a soft kiss on the lips and Stan turns for the door, feeling like he might be sick again. He can't even begin to formulate a theory about how any of this is happening.  
  
Out in the living room, Cartman is cleaning the puke off his shoes with some paper towels while Wendy paces tensely. Craig and Token have dropped onto the couch and are muttering together like conspiracy theorists, and Butters is fooling with the video camera. Stan goes to stand beside Kyle, who is near the front window, watching the street as if awaiting trick-or-treaters.  
  
"Alright," Bebe says as she walks in. "First of all, you guys can't tell anyone about this."  
  
"Like hell we can't," Cartman says. "This is major news."  
  
"I'm composing a Tweet as we speak," Craig says, bent over his phone.  
  
"No!" Bebe runs over and snatches the phone out of Craig's hand. "You can't!"  
  
"Why not?" Wendy asks. "Why is this a secret? How the hell did he survive?"  
  
"We were told he died," Stan says, suddenly feeling uncertain about this. He's dizzy, too, and has to brace himself on Kyle's shoulder for a moment. "Weren't - we?"  
  
"Well, they never found the body," Bebe says. "They concluded he'd been killed because of the amount of blood. His memories of that night are very hazy, okay - he's traumatized, obviously. He remembers hiding Karen, and then nothing else until I found him living near the dumpster behind the mall."  
  
"Hmm, sounds like bullshit to me," Cartman says. "Maybe he killed his loser parents himself!"  
  
"Shut up!" Bebe says, and she looks truly dangerous for a moment, as if she might cross the room and rip Cartman's tongue out. "You don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Why hasn't he told anyone he's alive?" Wendy asks, and she scoffs. "I mean - Bebe, this is so weird."  
  
"I know," she says, and for a moment she looks like she'll cry. "I just - when I found him last year-"  
  
"Last year?" Token says. "He's been living in your closet for a year?"  
  
"Only when he needs to hide from my parents! Otherwise, you know. I mean, it's not like I make him sleep in there."  
  
"Are you guys fucking?" Craig asks.  
  
"Craig, Jesus!" Wendy says. "That's your first question, really?"  
  
"I think it was like, my third, actually."  
  
"Everybody shut up!" Kyle says. "Bebe, you were saying?"  
  
"It was just so overwhelming." Bebe sits down on the couch, looking exhausted. "I was so - so glad he was alive, and I wanted to take care of him, and he begged me not to tell anyone. He cried and just - begged. He just can't deal with, um, reality, after what happened. Sometimes it is like he's a ghost, at least where other people are concerned. Me and him - he's good, with me. He trusts me."  
  
"They're fucking," Craig concludes. "Can I have my phone back?"  
  
"You're not Tweeting about this!" Bebe says, and that's when Stan can't take it anymore. His stomach has that suddenly-kicked feeling, and he races for the bathroom, unwilling to listen to any more of this complete fucking insanity. He thinks of Kenny sitting in Bebe's room, right across the hall, and drops down to his knees in front of the toilet.  
  
He opens the lid and retches a few times, but nothing comes up. He wants to throw up again, for even the most fleeting moment of relief. There's something unbearable and poisonous in him that needs to come out, and when he can't puke it up he starts sobbing in heavy jerks that make his stomachache worse. He's not even sure why he's crying. He should be glad that Kenny is alive, but he feels as if something else is being ripped away from him at the same time, something important and real that he needs. He hears the door open and pushes himself to his feet when Kyle walks in.  
  
"Oh - Stan!" Kyle shuts the door behind him and hurries to Stan, who falls gladly into Kyle's arms, squeezing him hard around his middle. He can't stop crying, though now he wants to, because it's okay: Kyle is here. Somehow, for a moment there, it had felt as if the thing he was going to lose in exchange for Kenny was Kyle. "It's okay," Kyle says, and he holds Stan more tightly, crushing their bodies together.  
  
"It's not okay," Stan says. They've done this before - cried together and held each other in a bruising hug, as if flood waters were rushing around them, threatening to separate them, but something about the memory has gotten fuzzy where it should be vivid. "Everything's so messed up," Stan says, and suddenly he's crying about all of it - Kenny, Cartman, Kyle, and all the wrong combinations thereof.  
  
"No, shh." Kyle strokes the back of his neck and rocks him a little, and it feels so stupidly good that Stan cries harder. "Stan, oh. I know, it's crazy, but it's okay. It's going to be okay."  
  
"It won't," Stan says, because whatever explanation they get from Bebe and Kenny, when they leave this bathroom things will be back to the way they were: Kenny existing in some other dimension, cut out of their lives and ruined by tragedy, and Kyle demeaning himself with Cartman, gritting his teeth and telling Stan to grow up, to get over it. "Oh, god," Stan says, feeling like he'll break into pieces as soon as Kyle lets go of him. "I just can't take it anymore, dude, I can't."  
  
"Shh, no." Kyle sounds like he might cry, too, and Stan feels guilty, because the only time Kyle loses it is when Stan can't hold his own tears in. "Here, shhh, c'mere." Kyle backs Stan up against the bathroom wall and presses him there, and Stan can feel Kyle's breath on his face, warm and laced with brandy. "It's okay," Kyle whispers, and then he's kissing Stan's wet cheeks in soft little pecks, his breath fluttering out unevenly. "Stan, it's okay, really, I promise."  
  
"You promise?" Stan scoffs incredulously and wrenches his eyes open. Kyle is so close, his belly pressed to Stan's. He keeps kissing Stan's face in an infuriatingly nonsexual way, his hands cupped around Stan's jaw. Stan remembers something, vaguely - that it will feel good to rub his face against Kyle's, so he does, smearing his tears onto Kyle's skin and trying to breathe normally.  
  
"See, here," Kyle says softly, taking Stan's hand. He pushes it up under his black sweater, guiding Stan's palm toward his heartbeat. "See?" Kyle says when Stan leaves his hand there, stunned. He remembers now: he touched Kyle's chest when they thought Kenny was dead, and doing so made everything better. "There," Kyle says, smiling when he can see Stan remembers, his fingers moving shyly over Kyle's chest the way they had that night. "There, see? There you go."  
  
Stan closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Kyle's, beginning to get hard from the feeling of the soft, warm skin under Kyle's sweater. He brushes his thumb over a stiff nipple and does it again when Kyle gasps.  
  
"Good, yeah," Kyle says, nodding. "See, it's okay." He finds Stan's other hand and pushes it up under his sweater, too. "It's okay, Stan, really."  
  
For a second Stan thinks they're going to kiss, but they just nuzzle each other's faces and breathe hard, Stan pressing his thumbs into both of Kyle's nipples now, rubbing in tight circles. Kyle makes a frustrated huffing sound and reaches down between their bodies, his knuckles brushing Stan's erection as he opens his own jeans.  
  
"Here," Kyle whispers, and he takes Stan's right hand, guiding it down to the waistband of his underwear, then inside, where everything is damp with heat and Stan's fingers curl easily around Kyle's cock. They both let out their breath, blinking heavily. Stan feels hypnotized, and so good. He rubs his thumb up and down the length of Kyle's cock, touching it the way he touched Kyle's chest, leeching comfort from the heat and weight in his palm.  
  
"What the hell are we doing?" Stan asks, finally. Kyle looks confused for a moment, as if he's not sure, either.  
  
"Making you feel better," Kyle says. His voice is small and kind of pinched, nervous.  
  
"What? I don't want to use you." Even as he says so, Stan's fingers tighten around Kyle's dick, his other hand snug over Kyle's ribs, under his sweater.  
  
"What do you want?" Kyle asks, and suddenly he's angry, eyes flashing. "Huh? What do you want from me, Stan? Just fucking tell me."  
  
Stan tries to kiss him, but Kyle rears back, his eyes hard as he waits for an answer.  
  
"To kiss you and fuck you and hold your hand," Stan says. "And everything else. And to say no one else gets to have you. Only me."  
  
"Oh-" Kyle says, and he gives Stan a lunging kiss, exhaling into his mouth when their tongues slide together. Stan has never considered himself a good kisser, but now he's too blown apart and overstimulated to worry about technique. He just wants to feel Kyle's tongue, like this, over and over, that soft, wet heat and Kyle's choppy breath.  
  
"What about Cartman?" Stan asks, somewhat bitterly, when Kyle pulls back. Kyle frowns like he doesn't understand the question.  
  
"That's - we can talk about that after," Kyle says.  
  
"After what?"  
  
"Um. After I come, because. I'm gonna come, in your hand, if you keep doing that."  
  
Stan didn't even realize he'd been pumping Kyle's dick, stroking him off to the rhythm of their kissing. They both look down, and Stan moans at the sight of Kyle's fat cock head protruding from the ring of his fingers, wet at the tip. He runs his thumb through the slickness and Kyle hisses.  
  
"Yeah," he whispers. His face is all red, and he's so hot under his sweater, burning up in Stan's hands. "Please-"  
  
"Fuck, I'm so hard right now," Stan says, realizing this as a near-painful throb of arousal makes his knees momentarily buckle. Kyle groans and comes, falling against Stan's chest and humping his hand in adorably desperate little twitches of his hips. Stan takes his hand from Kyle's dick, wipes it thoughtlessly on a nearby bath towel and wraps both arms around Kyle's back, holding him while he pants against Stan's shoulder. "How does Kenny bathe?" Stan asks, feeling calm now, though still very hard inside his jeans. "Does she bring a little plastic tub in there and sponge bathe him?"  
  
"I don't know what the fuck is going on, honestly," Kyle says. He lifts his face to Stan's and smiles when Stan leans in to kiss him. Kyle's mouth is wetter now, and maybe warmer, and he tastes so good, new but strangely familiar.  
  
"So, listen," Stan says. "You have to tell Cartman - you can't do that anymore. You're breaking my heart, dude."  
  
"Oh - Stan." Kyle moans and kisses his cheeks in a series of frantic little pecks. "Um." He pulls back and gives Stan a sheepish look. "I have to tell you something, but I want to suck your dick first. Or maybe during."  
  
"During?"  
  
"Here, just-"  
  
Kyle drops down to his knees, and it occurs to Stan that he wasn't just saying he was going to suck Stan's dick, he's actually going to do it. He peeks up at Stan as if to ask permission, then pulls down Stan's zipper like he's gotten it. Stan undoes the button on his jeans, wanting to communicate his enthusiasm for this turn of events. It's pretty bonkers that Kenny is somewhere in this house, living a quiet life as some kind of pet zombie that Bebe has decided she can have, but he'll deal with that momentarily. He's pretty sure Kenny would egg him on in this activity, despite the odd timing. Kenny once said that he assumed Stan and Kyle sixty-nine'd almost daily, then looked kind of sad and disappointed when Stan said of course they didn't.  
  
"Why not?" Kenny had asked.  
  
Now, with Kyle sucking gently at his cock head, Stan can't think of any reasons why not. He's envisioned this so many times: Kyle looking up at him, lapping at his dick some, then looking up again. Stan knew that would be the case, that Kyle would keep checking Stan's face to make sure he was doing a good job.  
  
"I'm kind of new at this," Kyle says.  
  
"Yeah?" Stan says, trying not to think about whatever he's done with Cartman.  
  
"I mean, entirely new," Kyle says. He licks a fat stripe up the underside of Stan's cock, sliding his hand under Stan's balls.  
  
"Mhm, well." Stan wants to say that's hard to believe, considering who Kyle's been having hate sex with, but Kyle has always been weird about oral hygiene, so maybe he refused to get his mouth involved at all. "That's okay," Stan says. "I mean. I'm about to come just from, from what you're doing, so-"  
  
"Good, then now's the time to tell you," Kyle says, his face getting very red, "And please don't be mad, but, um. I wasn't actually, like. Doing things, with Cartman. He made that up to make Wendy jealous."  
  
"What?" Stan can't take many more surprises, but actually this feels like something he should have guessed. "Wendy - what? Why would you let him do that? Drag your name through the, uh? Mud, like that?"  
  
"Well, because I thought maybe - you would look at me different, or, I don't know! I hoped you'd get really pissed off about it and try to fight him or something. That you'd be jealous, and you were. But it wasn't real - we're mutually repulsed by each other, we never did anything. And it kinda hurt my feelings that you believed the lie, but I forgive you."  
  
"What-"  
  
"Shh, just concentrate on this for a second."  
  
By 'this' he must mean the sensation of having Kyle's whole mouth slide down over his cock, at last. Stan's knees are shaking, and he's clenching his ass, trying not to let his hips move. Kyle looks strangely dainty with his hand wrapped around the base of Stan's cock, head bobbing. It's something about the way his eyelashes flutter while he works.  
  
"Kyle!" Stan cries, in warning, but it's too late. He's coming, in Kyle's mouth, and Kyle, it seems, is swallowing it.  
  
"Gah," Kyle says when he pulls off. "It doesn't taste the way I thought it would." He stands and helps Stan remain upright, pressing him against the wall. "Not that I haven't tasted mine, but. It's different, on the back of your throat, as opposed to the tip of your tongue, I guess."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Stan asks, afraid he'll start crying again. "What's even going on? I feel like this is a fucking dream."  
  
"Shh," Kyle says, and he kisses Stan. His tongue is sour and salty. Stan has actually never tasted his own come, and now he's left wondering if that's something normal guys do.  
  
Someone knocks on the door, and Kyle sighs into Stan's mouth, disconnecting slowly.  
  
"Are you guys fucking in there?" Craig asks.  
  
"Yes," Stan says, and Kyle snorts.  
  
"Cool. Look, me and Token are leaving. The girls are down there crying, Kenny won't come out of Bebe's room, Cartman is the worst and I'm bored. Do you guys need a ride?"  
  
Stan boggles at Kyle, who looks equally surprised that Craig would offer them a ride anywhere, ever.  
  
"This is some kind of bizarro world," Kyle mutters.  
  
"No, thanks," Stan says.  
  
"Whatever," Craig says. "Enjoy each other's semen. Tell Kenny we said welcome back to life if he comes out of his hidey hole at any point."  
  
Stan listens to Craig and Token walking away, still trying to get his bearings. He closes his eyes rests his face against Kyle's, his spent dick tiredly registering the weight of Kyle's body as they lean together.  
  
"You lied to me," Stan says.  
  
"Well, yes. I just. I couldn't take it anymore, how you were always looking at me like you were drowning and I wasn't saving you, like I had to take the plunge and be the one who risked everything, and then Cartman had this dumb idea, because Wendy was always jealous of me and so forth, and I thought, what the hell. What do I have to lose?"  
  
"You were toying with us," Stan says, increasingly angry as the haze of his orgasm dissipates. "Me and Wendy - you guys had this plan, this gross plan, and you went along with a Cartman plan, Kyle. Why do you always do that?"  
  
"Always do what?"  
  
"Fall in with him when you think you'll get something out of it."  
  
"I don't! Fuck you!"  
  
"Fuck me? You just sucked my dick so that I wouldn't get mad at you for lying to me for months - about something that really fucking upset me, Kyle! What the hell is that? Who does that?"  
  
Kyle slams out of the bathroom, red-faced again and still doing up his pants. He stops in the doorway with his hand on his fly. Stan tucks his cock in and fastens his pants, feeling like he's been lashed by competing storms. This is not at all how it goes in his head when he allows himself to imagine Kyle confessing his love. Which he hasn't done, actually, unless dick sucking is tantamount to that. At the moment Stan feels like it probably isn't.  
  
He comes to the doorway and sees why Kyle has stopped. Across the hall, half-hidden behind the door to Bebe's bedroom, Kenny is peeking out at them. Stan can hear Bebe and Wendy arguing out in the living room, Cartman occasionally chiming in. Kenny glances from Kyle to Stan and back to Kyle again.  
  
"You guys were fighting," Kenny says. Kyle snorts.  
  
"Yeah," he says. "And you were dead."  
  
"Hey," Stan says. He pushes around Kyle and walks toward the bedroom door, slowly, as if Kenny is an animal who might be spooked. "Why did you run from me?" Stan asks. "When I saw you at the mall? Why'd you run from me and not Bebe?"  
  
"I ran from her," Kenny says. He's got a throaty rumble to his voice now, as if he's taken up smoking. It makes him sound older than seventeen. "I guess she's just faster than you. She caught me."  
  
"And where the hell were you before she found you?" Kyle asks. "The last time we saw you was when we were - thirteen, Jesus Christ!"  
  
"My memory's a little rusty," Kenny says, and there's something dark in his voice that makes Stan nervous. "I wanted to see you guys, just. It was weird, like. I thought you'd be mad at me."  
  
"We kind of are," Kyle says.  
  
"No, we're not," Stan says, and Kyle gives him a look of outrage. "Kenny, just. We're really glad you're okay."  
  
"I'm not exactly okay," Kenny says, still halfway behind the door, as if he might need to use it as a shield when Stan and Kyle come at him with weapons.  
  
"You have to tell people you're alive," Kyle says. "You can't just live in Bebe's closet. I mean, what the fuck?"  
  
"I know," Kenny says. "But I'm not ready to come back to life yet. It's not fair that I don't get to decide when to come back."  
  
Stan glances at Kyle, who seems to share his alarm. It's not exactly surprising that Kenny would be sort of nuts after what he went through, but it's still upsetting.  
  
"What were you doing in that house?" Stan asks. "Staring at us like that? You scared the shit out of me."  
  
"Sorry. I go back there sometimes, um. I have a stash there, my parents' drug money is still hidden in the wall. Don't tell Cartman."  
  
"What do you need money for?" Kyle asks. "Doesn't Bebe feed you table scraps?"  
  
"I use it to help my sister. Her foster family doesn't buy her everything she needs, so. I do."  
  
"She knows you're alive?" Stan says, trying to picture little Karen McCormick, who he never took much notice of before the tragedy.  
  
"Sort of," Kenny says. "She thinks I'm her guardian angel. Stop looking at me like that - see, you guys don't understand. That's why I stayed hidden. I didn't want to fucking explain. I knew you'd look at me like this."  
  
"Didn't you think we missed you?" Stan asks. "Didn't you get that when I was running after you, calling your name? You think I just wanted you to explain? I don't care what the explanation is. Nothing makes sense anymore anyway. Just - c'mere."  
  
Stan fears he's probably being insensitive of Kenny's reclusive shyness, but he can't wait any longer to feel if he's solid or not. He pushes the door open and Kenny moves back a little, but stands in place when Stan wraps him into a hug. Kenny is taller than him now, and still bony, with wide shoulders. He hugs Stan back tentatively at first, then more tightly.  
  
"I missed you guys, too," Kenny says. Kyle makes a pinched, wounded noise and falls onto Stan's back, hugging both of them.  
  
"I'm so sorry," Stan says, still holding onto Kenny, glad for the warm pressure of Kyle against his back, Kyle's breath on his ear. "About your parents, and your brother. God - goddammit."  
  
"Yeah," Kenny says, and he squirms free. "It's. I don't really talk about it."  
  
"Understandable," Kyle says. He's lingering close to Stan, smelling like come. For a while they all just stand there, exchanging awkward glances.  
  
"We never should have gone to your house," Stan blurts. "It was disrespectful. Cartman - fucking Cartman. It was his stupid idea." Stan can feel Kyle go tense beside him, but he doesn't care. Stan will never follow Cartman down another rabbit hole again. If Kyle wants to continue to buy into Cartman's schemes, that's his problem.  
  
"It's okay," Kenny says. "I know how he is."  
  
"No, that's not an excuse," Stan says. "I take full responsibility for letting him drag me into it. It's just as much my fault as his."  
  
"Oh, my god," Kyle mutters.  
  
"What?" Stan says. "You disagree?"  
  
"Stop trying to make this about me and my deception! Kenny is standing right here. We haven't seen him in years. Talk about disrespectful."  
  
"Oh, yeah, and ignoring the whole situation in favor of sucking my dick was super respectful."  
  
"What?" Kenny says, and he smiles, which makes him look younger, like his old self. Even as a kid he didn't smile that much, but when he did he did it was extra special, to Stan, knowing he'd said something that impressed Kenny. "Is that why you guys are like, coated in come stains?"  
  
Stan and Kyle look down at themselves, and Kyle curses under his breath. There are a few stains on the hem of Kyle's sweater, and Stan's shirt and jeans are smeared with come. It's all Kyle's, and Stan feels oddly proud about this, and less angry at Kyle for a moment. It's sweet, somehow, that Kyle came this much and this sloppily, marking both of them, then swallowed all of Stan's down without spilling a drop.  
  
"Hey, good," Kenny says. "Bebe told me that Kyle was with Cartman. I refused to believe it."  
  
"Stan believed it easily enough," Kyle snaps, and Stan is back to being furious with him. Before he can respond, Bebe walks into the room.  
  
"What the hell are you two doing?" she asks.  
  
"It's okay," Kenny says. "I wanted to see them. Just not Craig and the others."  
  
"Cartman and Wendy are still out there," Bebe says, frowning. "They're doing that thing where they move progressively closer to each other during a fight. Makes me afraid they're going to start fucking any second." She glances at Stan's shirt and jeans. "Huh," she says, giving him a judgmental look. "Was that there ten minutes ago?"  
  
"What about Butters?" Stan asks, unwilling to answer that.  
  
"He left with Craig and Token." Bebe turns to Kenny and touches his arm. "I made them promise not to tell anyone about you, but I don't trust Craig."  
  
Kenny shrugs. "I can't keep doing this anyway," he says. "Kyle's right."  
  
"But-" Bebe grabs for Kenny's arm again, more forcefully this time. "Where will you stay?"  
  
"He can stay with us," Stan volunteers, pretty sure that his parents won't like the idea. "Shelly's old room is empty."  
  
"I'll figure it out," Kenny says, and he kisses Bebe's cheek. She peers up at him, worried and worshipful, and Stan wonders what it's like: having a secret boy in her bed, someone who belongs only to her. He's jealous, wishing he could hide Kyle in his bedroom for a year or so, away from all corrupting forces. Stan would keep him warm and safe and hidden, would bring him food. Carrots, sometimes.  
  
"I've got to go," Stan says, still freaked out by standing in the same room with Kenny. "Let me know, uh. If you need a place to crash."  
  
"We'll see," Kenny says, and Stan's chest tightens. Maybe Kenny will leave town. Maybe this is the last time they'll see each other, and in the future it will only feel like a fever dream. He looks at Kyle, who is clearly still fuming.  
  
"We should ask Wendy if she wants us to walk her home," Stan says.  
  
"Whatever," Kyle says. He looks at Bebe, then Kenny. "You two make a beautiful couple," he says.  
  
"Uh," Bebe says. "Thanks."  
  
Kyle leaves the room. Stan looks at Kenny, who widens his eyes in an old familiar way that makes Stan sad for all the years together they've missed. Kenny always had the best expressions in reaction to Kyle's weirdness.  
  
"I mean it about staying with me," Stan says, his voice wavering a little.  
  
"I know you do," Kenny says. "I'll see you around."  
  
Stan can't help imagining that Kenny means Stan might see him in alley by the mall again, and that he might take off running if Stan tries to come near him.  
  
Out in the living room, Cartman and Wendy's argument has dulled to a murmur, and they're standing close enough that Stan feels as if he's intruding on something. Kyle doesn't seem to care, stomping over to break up the scene.  
  
"The jig is up," Kyle says. "Stan knows about our plan."  
  
"Whatever are you talking about, Kyle?" Cartman asks, his eyes hardening. "I'm sure I don't know."  
  
"Give it up, Cartman. I told Stan everything, and Wendy deserves the truth, too."  
  
"God, what now?" Wendy says, looking from Kyle to Cartman. "Eric? What's he talking about?"  
  
"There was never any hate sex," Stan says. "Cartman made it all up. They conspired to make you jealous."  
  
"Lies!" Cartman says, and for a moment Stan thinks the two of them might come to physical blows over this. Though Cartman is considerably larger, Stan suddenly likes the idea of fighting him. "Kyle, what is this witchery? You're pretending to be a virgin so that Stan will fuck you bare back?"  
  
"I am a virgin!" Kyle says, and he goes very red in a way that convinces Stan this is true. "Cartman, you complete ass - just tell her the truth, that you want to get back with her and you're sorry about putting your dick on her face that time!"  
  
"You told Kyle about that?" Wendy says, rounding on Cartman.  
  
"Buh - no, what?" Cartman looks genuinely afraid that Wendy will hit him. Stan has no doubt that she could still kick his ass. "Wendy, I. I'm going through a hard time right now, okay? Kenny is alive and stuff."  
  
"Eric, you selfish piece of shit! As soon as I give you an inch I wake up with a dick on my cheek."  
  
"I'm leaving," Stan says, unable to stomach this any longer.  
  
"Wait!" Cartman says. "What did you assholes do with my equipment? Where's my light and my mike?"  
  
"We left them at the McCormick house, in the backyard," Kyle says. "I'll get them in the morning."  
  
"No - what? Like hell, Kyle! You think we're the only one who had the idea to lurk around there on Halloween night? Jesus, someone might have stolen that shit already! That's expensive equipment, you butt pirates! Go get it now, or I'm suing you for three thousand dollars!"  
  
"Fine!" Kyle says, and he follows Stan out the front door.  
  
It's gotten cold outside, and Bebe's neighborhood has gone quiet, most of the jack-o-lanterns blown out, no kids traversing the streets. Stan walks toward the woods that they cut through on their wild Kenny chase. Kyle keeps close and says nothing.  
  
"I'm not going to get Cartman's shit," Stan says. "He can go fuck himself with his three thousand dollar lawsuit."  
  
"It's fine," Kyle says, mumbling. "I'll get it."  
  
"What - what? You're going back there alone?"  
  
"It will take five seconds! And what is there to be afraid of? We just hugged the ghost."  
  
Stan huffs angrily. Kyle knows that Stan won't let him go there alone, so now he'll be stuck fetching Cartman's crap, returning to the scene of the crime.  
  
"I guess you hate me now," Kyle says, his voice shaking. "That's cool. Okay."  
  
"I don't hate you. Where's my jacket?"  
  
"Oh - shit. Shit, I left it in Bebe's bathroom. Shit!"  
  
"Calm down, it's okay." Stan bumps his shoulder against Kyle's. "We'll walk fast." He thinks of getting back to his house, changing out of their come-stained clothes and huddling under the blankets on his bed, holding on to each other to get warm. "I want to date you," Stan says, still angry but unwilling to be vague on this point. "I want it to be, like. A serious thing. Not just some weird sex in a bathroom."  
  
"I want both," Kyle says, quietly. "I liked the weird bathroom sex."  
  
Stan tries to fight off a smile and can't suppress it. His moods have been careening around crazily for days, but whatever he's feeling, he knows he wants to keep Kyle close, even if he simultaneously wants to berate him for telling such a vile lie. He reaches over and takes Kyle's hand as they walk into the woods.  
  
"Since when are you gay?" Kyle asks.  
  
"I don't know. You knew I liked it when you did stuff to my nipples that night."  
  
"Yeah. But I thought maybe it was a desperate need for human contact of any kind. Why didn't you just kiss me?"  
  
"I don't know! Kenny was dead. It didn't seem like the time."  
  
"So it took Kenny coming back to life for you to decide it was the time?"  
  
"Maybe. Kyle, I'm still pissed off."  
  
"I know." Kyle squeezes Stan's hand and sighs. "It's kind of creepy back here."  
  
Stan has to agree. He hardly noticed the woods as they ran through them before, but the density of the pines and the empty quiet all around is intimidating, as if they've trespassed into some menacing entity's territory. An owl hoots overhead, and it sounds like a warning to turn back. There's a peel of wild laughter from somewhere in the distance, though not distant enough to be outside of the woods.  
  
"I bet the Goth kids are out here," Stan says when Kyle twitches nervously. "Doing fake Satanic rituals or whatever the hell."  
  
"It's not midnight yet," Kyle says. "The dead are still roaming the earth."  
  
"Ha. Don't joke about that."  
  
"I still can't believe that was Kenny. Was it really him, Stan?"  
  
"I think so. He smelled like Bebe, did you notice? Like, he must use all of her bath products."  
  
"This is the second time we've discussed Kenny's bathing habits tonight."  
  
Kyle stops walking when they hear the laughter again. It seems closer now, or maybe Stan is just imagining things. From someplace behind them, a twig snaps.  
  
"Want to run?" Stan asks, and Kyle nods.  
  
They go tearing through the woods, and Stan waits to have that feeling that he did before, a weird elation brought on by the run, but it doesn't happen. He feels an abrupt and powerful sense of dread, as if he and Kyle have doomed each other by announcing their intentions to be together. It's like the scene in a horror movie when the future victims are lulled into a false sense of security. He can't hear anyone chasing them, but he definitely feels as if they're running away from something bad.  
  
"Stan?" Kyle says as they're nearing the edge of the woods. They've released each other's hands, for maximum running potential.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm really sorry!" Kyle is shouting, which seems dangerous, as if he might give away their location.  
  
"It's okay," Stan says.  
  
"No, it's not! I took a sadistic pleasure in the idea that you were horrified by the thought of me with Cartman! I wanted you to be jealous!"  
  
"Kyle-"  
  
"I felt you had caused me pain and deserved to suffer! But I was wrong, okay, I'm really sorry-"  
  
"Fine!" Stan stops running when they've cleared the woods and looks back, panting. There's nothing but shadows on the trail that leads into the woods.  
  
"What are you doing?" Kyle asks, pulling on his shoulders. "Let's go get that stuff and go home."  
  
"What do you mean I caused you pain?" Stan asks.  
  
"Oh - well, because I loved you. That whole time."  
  
"I know," Stan says, though he didn't know that. It just seems obvious now. "Me too."  
  
He kisses Kyle's cheek, then his lips. It feels very weird to do so outside. They're both breathing hard from the run.  
  
"I don't want to go back to that house," Stan says.  
  
"I know. But I really don't want to deal with Cartman's wrath if that equipment gets taken. We'll just grab it and go."  
  
Kenny's old house is just up ahead, across the street. As they walk toward it, Stan thinks about Kenny's life in that alleyway, then in Bebe's closet. It's the kind of impossible thing that he could only imagine Kenny doing: surviving in the shadows for years, drifting between life and death. If Stan had to listen to his family being murdered, he supposes he would want to retire from the land of the living, too.  
  
"One thing doesn't make sense," Stan says. "Karen - why was she still hiding when the police came? And Kenny was gone? I can't see him leaving her there like that."  
  
"Well, he did," Kyle says. "I mean, what's the alternative explanation? Bebe has been fucking a ghost for the past year? We just hugged a zombie?"  
  
Goosebumps rise on the back of Stan's neck as they come to the front yard of the McCormick house. He feels as if something is very off, as if Kyle is right but he is, too. Something doesn't add up, and he can't shake the feeling that Kenny did die in this house, but that he's also still alive.  
  
"The one night when the dead can walk among us," he says. "And that's when we found Kenny."  
  
"You'd seen him before," Kyle says.  
  
"Oh, yeah," Stan says, feeling stupid for being dramatic. "C'mon, let's get that stuff."  
  
He walks ahead of Kyle and into the backyard, half expecting the light and mike to be gone already, taken by some other thrill seekers who arrived after they had. But the equipment is where they'd left it, near the back door that Cartman ripped open with the crowbar. Stan picks up the mike and peers into the dark house, surprised that any of them had the nerve to walk in there earlier. Now that it's later and quieter the energy of the place seems even more maliciously dangerous.  
  
"I feel like we're being watched," Kyle says, and Stan peers into the dark house, both wanting to see something looking back and terrified by the idea that he might. There's a squeaking sound behind them, and they both whirl toward the swing set. One rusty swing is moving as if someone just leapt off of it. There's no wind, and the swing beside it remains motionless. A chill races up the back of Stan's neck and down along his arms, all the way to his fingertips. Kyle is breathing hard again. Stan feels as certain as he did when he ran into that alley after what he thought was a ghost: Kenny was here, just now. It's impossible but true, and when he looks at Kyle, he knows that he felt it, too.  
  
"Let's go," Stan says. Kyle nods, so eager to leave that he almost forgets the light.  
  
They're quiet for a while, walking quickly away from the house, toward the train tracks. Once they've crossed them, Kyle grabs for Stan's hand and holds it.  
  
"I wanted to see the Kenny we lost," Stan says. "The thirteen-year-old one."  
  
"I feel like he just saw us," Kyle says.  
  
"But. That's not-"  
  
"Maybe the spirit of what he lost is there, or something, I don't fucking know. God, let's go to my house. Ike went trick or treating. He'll have candy we can steal."  
  
Nothing sounds better or more comforting than a night of eating candy on the couch with Kyle, watching scary movies and sharing a blanket. They can deal with reality, or what claims to be reality, tomorrow. Meanwhile, they've still got a few hours left to salvage a decent Halloween.  
  
Ike is watching Pumpkinhead on the living room couch when they get there. He has hidden his Halloween candy, anticipating their attempted theft, but there is apple cake in the kitchen, and after eating two slices Stan remembers that he didn't have dinner and realizes how hungry he is, his stomach empty after his throw up incident. He raids Kyle's pantry, eating yogurt-covered pretzels, three pieces of fruit leather, and some leftover noodle pudding, despite Kyle's protests that it's too old and should be thrown out. It tastes fine to Stan after microwaving.  
  
"What's that on your shirt?" Ike asks at one point, when Stan is overstuffed and beached on the couch, Kyle leaning subtly against his shoulder. "Jesus, is that jizz?"  
  
"It's ectoplasm," Stan says, and Kyle starts laughing hard, giddy and nervous. Ike tells them they're disgusting and goes upstairs to enjoy his candy in the safety of his room. As soon as he's gone, Stan pulls Kyle closer, halfway into his lap.  
  
"Is this real?" Kyle asks. Stan puts his hand over Kyle's heart. It's beating faster than he expected. "I feel like I'm going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight," Kyle says. "If you know what I mean."  
  
"I love pumpkins," Stan says. "If you turn into one - I'll still eat you."  
  
"Stan!" Kyle beams and then they're kissing in the sort of desperate, sloppy way that Stan always knew they would, if ever they kissed.  
  
They go up to Kyle's bedroom shortly after midnight, and once they get there it's all still real: they dress down to their boxer shorts and gravitate together under the blankets, and Stan is pretty sure he's never felt so much warm skin pressed up against his own. The head to toe closeness of Kyle is as good as the kissing, and almost as good as Kyle's hand between his legs.  
  
"Maybe Kenny came back to life because he sensed that we needed a push," Kyle says.  
  
"Seems like the kind of thing he would do," Stan says, and he's joking, but as soon as he's said so he realizes it's true, somehow.  
  
They bring each other to a slow building orgasm with hands only, kissing the whole time, until their lips are raw. Stan feels the way he used to when he binged on candy on Halloween night: sinfully sated, exhausted by good gluttony.  
  
He dreams that he's on the swing set with Kenny, in daylight, back when they were kids. They're both laughing and kicking their legs, getting as high as they can. Kyle is standing in front of the swings, watching them and telling them to be careful. Stan can hear the steaks sizzling on the grill, and his mouth waters at the thought of dinner. He lets go with a whoop and lands right on top of Kyle, who thankfully isn't hurt or even annoyed by the impact. Kyle grins up at him, blushing, and Stan can hear Kenny laughing behind them, but it's a happy, nonjudgmental laugh that seems to prove what Stan is feeling: everything is right again, the way it should be.


End file.
